


The Feast of Sankt Nikolai

by Sarai



Series: The House of Van Eck [3]
Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, F/M, Family, Fluff, Grishaverse Big Bang 2019, Holidays, M/M, Murder, Original Disabled Character, Post-Book 2: Crooked Kingdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 47,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22051297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarai/pseuds/Sarai
Summary: Several years have passed since the Ice Court job and the winter holidays are approaching! For Jesper and Wylan, this means a chance to take a break from business and spend time with family—including Marya; Colm, visiting from Novyi Zem; Inej, on a brief stop from hunting slavers on the True Sea; and Wylan’s half-sister. But Ketterdam never stops. Wylan should be focused on convincing the rest of the Merchant Council to approve spending for public education… and he would be, if he weren’t distracted by a body on the docks in Hanraat Bay.Merriment, merchers, and murder—’tis the season, Ketterdam-style.--------While this is part of my House of Van Eck series, I was careful to write it so it would make sense on its own.
Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck, Kaz Brekker/Inej Ghafa
Series: The House of Van Eck [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536262
Comments: 59
Kudos: 123
Collections: Grishaverse Big Bang 2019





	1. Jesper

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of the Grishaverse Big Bang with the editing and beta-reading assistance of @flowerboynoah & @sassysaltysarcasticstupid on tumblr, with visuals by @imjustsomebodyelse [rootcellars](https://rootcellars.tumblr.com/post/189997340587/my-grishaversebigbang-piece-for) & @sargents. As soon as everything's up on tumblr, I'll post a link. This was an awesome gang and it was great working with them!
> 
> \---------
> 
> A note on tags: While primarily a family-fluff-centric fic, this also has a background murder mystery and acknowledges the exploitative aspects of Ketterdam. Initially I had warning tags up but chose to take them down because they're not really indicative of what the story is. However, there is still a serious aspect behind all the family fluff.
> 
> A note on OCs: Technically Wylan's baby sibling is canon, but I've marked her as an OC because I don't think she really serves the same role here as she does in the books. There is a trans character in this fic; he's only in a few chapters (if you're reading for him I fear it's a wait), but if you are transphobic, don't read this fic, I don't want to hear from you. (I'd prefer if transphobes didn't read any of my fics because bigots suck rancid monkey butts, though I can't actually stop you.) While transphobia is mentioned, it's in a backstory reference and not a significant part of the narrative.

In four and a half years, many things had changed for Jesper Fahey. He no longer lived in the Barrel, though he still lived in Ketterdam, and he was no longer a university dropout, but approaching completion of his degree. His body had taken pity and finally allowed him to grow a beard, though he was clean-shaven for now. It was more the knowledge that he could, if he wanted, have a beard. He kept his hair long, in Zemeni-style braids.

As he strode past two members of the stadwatch, he nodded in greeting and the men nodded back, familiar. He did not pause his stride. That was one thing that hadn't changed: as ever, Jesper was running late. He hurried up the stairs to the second story.

Jesper still dressed Barrel-bright, though. He had lost his jacket somewhere—in the pub? By the time the cold pierced his shirt, he had been too far along to turn back, already behind schedule—but his wine-red shirt and plaid trousers set off his paisley brocade waistcoat delightfully. A man could be a responsible university student and maintain his style!

Even as he heard voices spilling out from the theater where the Merchant Council held meetings, Jesper continued to lament the loss of his jacket. It wasn't a particularly nice jacket, but it was a particularly chilly corridor.

 _Sodding Kerch,_ he thought.

Six years of living in Ketterdam might have made him as familiar with the city as any nativeborn Kerch, but he would still curse their tight-fistedness on the heating budget. It was a government building, for the Saints' sake!

Jesper opened the door and slipped onto the balcony. Other observers crowded in; though he tried to edge closer, he knew he wouldn't be getting a prime spot. Instead, he craned his neck to get a view. At least the acoustics were good. The moment he opened the door, a crisp voice had washed over him, pitched to reach the rafters. He knew for a fact that voice was pitched to reach the rafters. He had been present for the elocution lessons.

"…that this proposal diverts badly needed funds away from the city, away from Ketterdam's hardworking denizens, on a project we do not need!"

"Do not need?" repeated another member of the Council. Jesper recognized the voice—Hiram Schenck. Voice like a frog, with a face to match. Schenck was true Kerch. All that had value had value in coin.

"Podge," Jesper muttered.

A second Councilman added, "Kerch _needs_ its defenses. Kerch _needs_ its safety. Or we may as well call ourself Shu Han!"

Boreg's logic sounded good, at least enough to earn murmurs of disapproval from the gallery. They did not wish to be called Shu Han. Well, neither did Jesper. He still woke up in a cold sweat sometimes from dreams about the kherguud. It didn't matter how many reasonable intellectual arguments he heard; Jesper did not hate the Shu, but their Fabrikator-modified soldiers left him with a deep fear of them.

"We have the Council of Tides," replied Wylan.

"Clever thing."

"Shh!" whispered someone beside Jesper.

Jesper didn't care. Wylan _was_ clever, and just as Jesper needed reminders from time to time that he was safe, Wylan needed reminders that he was smart. Some wounds took a long time to fade. The Council of Tides and Merchant Council had their own power struggles, but those were carefully concealed from the public.

When he first saw Wylan, Jesper thought of him as a lost prince. He still saw Wylan that way, in his more romantic moments, simply no longer lost—found, cleaned up, made a man but never made a king. And today, Saints, his prince was shining.

"We have a more than formidable arsenal! What do we show the Zemeni and the Southern States if we insist our trade routes need more protection? They are our allies! What do we show the people of this city if we bankrupt their children's schools to pay for weapons to sit and wait for a war that may never come? Kerch must learn its lessons from Ravka, see how that country suffered from its wars and learn not to court our own."

"And if the Fjerdans should recover well enough to enter the fray?" asked Naten Boreg.

Fjerda was a changing country, but its strong military tradition prevailed. Had he not been over the figures again and again to prepare Wylan for this, Jesper might have felt the fear of that statement. He knew Wylan was frustrated down there. He must want to throw out the arguments he used with Jesper when they were alone: Kerch had a strong enough military now, they were strong at sea, Schenck's arguments had more to do with his mines than his fears! Jesper simply saw it as a sound approach. When you have Kerch's sole ruthenium mine, naturally, you argue that Kerch needs ruthenium. Needs weapons. Made sense. But his sweet, optimistic revolutionary continued to believe people ought to think of the greater good.

"We trust our allies in Ravka—"

"After what they did just a few years ago?" Schenck cut in. Jesper nodded to himself. He didn't like Schenck, so he had been particularly amused when the man thought he had pulled one over on the king of Ravka and brought home false submersible plans.

"Even so," Wylan insisted.

"The Ravkans have no love of the Fjerdans, either," offered Karl Dryden. "If Fjerda builds up its weapons again, Ravka is at the greatest risk."

"Our junior members seem to forget that the duty of this Council is to protect Kerch," sniped Boreg.

Jesper smiled. "Idiot," he muttered happily, earning himself another shush.

"My esteemed colleague," Wylan said, addressing Boreg with those silly, adorable merch manners, "the schools you would take these funds away from for one more submersible, they have already shown to benefit the children of Ketterdam. Fewer children are dying and more are finding their way into apprenticeships with even a year or two of education. Do we want to protect against an attack we might not face instead of continuing to fight dangers we do? Dangers like malnutrition and disease? These programs _do_ protect Kerch, because what is Kerch—"

_"If not her people!"_

The line had put Wylan's name in the paper a few years ago. Years on, they still weren't tired of it. They broke the protocol of silence to shout it at him. With him.

Wylan had timed his speech perfectly. The bells announced three-quarter chime. The Merchant Council would be getting restless, would want to get home to their warm parlors and suppers.

Jellen Radmakker banged his gavel and called a vote.

Jesper already knew how Wylan would vote, and Dryden would follow as he often did. Dryden was not an impressive man in his own right, so he followed after Wylan—not openly, he was clever enough to deviate some and not look like a follower, but only on the smaller votes. When Wylan was this worked up, Dryden would follow. Similarly, Schenck and Boreg would oppose. Hoede would probably follow Wylan's side, Smit the opposing. Hoede, Dryden, and Wylan had come into their positions at close to the same time, but only Wylan, the youngest by far, had anything to bring besides more of the same. Hoede and Dryden tended to follow him more often than not.

When it came to the final vote, there were six for the military expansion and five against, with Van Aakster abstaining. Jesper still felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins, barely down from the kick it got when Van Aakster abstained. Abstained! Wild card!

A man could have as much fun at a political debate as he could at the card table if he looked for it.

The final vote cast was Radmakker's, and it drew an uncertain reaction from the crowd.

"Draw," announced Radmakker, "the Council will reconvene for an emergency session to resolve the matter at seven bells and half chime tomorrow. So ordered."

He banged his gavel, and with that, the meeting was adjourned.

"What was that?" someone in the gallery muttered.

"Waste of time," replied another.

"A damn show," complained a third.

Jesper let the crowd carry him along, listening as the discussion continued. Overall the people seemed malcontent with the outcome. He was inclined to agree. All the build-up to a cliffhanger? He was ready to be elated! He was ready to be furious! He was _not_ ready to be postponed for a day. The Council would be especially fussed at the loss of a holiday. Sacred is Ghezen, but the winter holiday was apparently even more sacred than commerce.

On the first floor, Jesper fell back and let the crowds thin before starting against the tide.

He wasn't actually allowed in the Council chamber. No one was but the Councilmen, despite the stadwatch posted by the door recognizing Jesper. He didn't bother arguing. A few of the Councilmen passed, greeting him by name. Even those who didn't like Jesper or didn't like Wylan had accepted that the two were a pair. Merchers to the last, they kept their manners. Jesper was almost impressed not only by how many cast nervous glances at his revolvers, but how many managed to greet him anyway. Just for Wylan, Jesper did not antagonize the merchers. He _could have_ casually pushed up his sleeves and given a glimpse of the crow and cup tattooed on his right arm—but the weather today was too cold for that, and Jesper was actively trying not to alienate the people Wylan had to work with.

Speaking of whom…

"Jes!"

Wylan's face lit up, a sight Jesper only had a moment to enjoy before Wylan was hugging him like it had been weeks rather than hours since they were last together. Jesper would never get tired of that.

"How was it?" Wylan asked, pulling back, searching Jesper's face for answers. He was sweating, pupils wide, marked the way Jesper used to be after an hour at the tables. The only difference was that once Wylan's jitters wore off, Jesper knew he would want—need—holding and soothing. Wylan didn't actually like public speaking. It happened to be necessary to his aims and he was good at it, but he didn't like it.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine now that you're here, my blessing," he said, pressing a kiss to Jesper's knuckles.

The endearment had rankled some the first time Jesper heard it. He knew Wylan meant it literally. Wylan had always accepted Jesper's powers more easily than Jesper himself accepted them. Maybe from someone else it would have been too much, but this was his Wylan, coupling the term with an open, adoring look, and Jesper had seen no choice but to accept that to Wylan, Jesper was a blessing.

"Come on," Wylan continued, "tell me everything. Where's your coat?"

The words were barely out but Wylan began removing his own coat. He had changed in the past few years, too—grown in confidence and just _grown_. Now they could kiss without Wylan standing on tiptoe.

By size alone, the idea of Jesper borrowing Wylan's coat was not absurd.

For every other reason, it was absolutely absurd.

Jesper stopped Wylan with a hand on his shoulder. "I don't need your coat," he said, straightening the lapels. He let his hands linger, brushing a fingertip against the necklace tucked under Wylan's shirt, eliciting a soft sigh from Wylan. Then he resettled the coat. The cold might bother him, but it wouldn't make him susceptible to illness. He was zowa. He was Grisha. Whatever you called him, that seed of magic kept him immune to germs and other feeble nonsense.

"Right, right," Wylan said. "I want to hear all about your exam!" he concluded, lacing their fingers together.

Jesper laughed. "No, you don't," he said.

"I do!"

No, he didn't.

"You've been waiting for the end of the semester since two weeks in," Jesper retorted. Usually Wylan had eagerly helped him study, listened to Jesper read off his class notes and textbooks and latched onto the information as easily as he had reports and business correspondence. This semester's course in public administration had challenged both of them to the edges of their patience. Necessary, for his goals, but dull as rocks.

That wasn't fair. Wylan liked rocks for their history. Jesper was less impressed with sedimentary striations, but he appreciated the shiny rocks they sometimes gave one another.

"Then I'm pleased it's here," Wylan said.

"I passed and it's over?"

Wylan brought their linked fingers to his lips for a kiss as they stepped outside. Jesper swallowed a shiver. The kiss was nice. The air briefly made him wish he had accepted Wylan's coat.

"You did great."

"You always say that."

Wylan shrugged. "You always do great."

"Excuses."

"I'm sorry you're so brilliant, Jesper."

And with that, their game had begun.

"I'm sorry you make such a great study buddy."

They had a lot of games between them. Mostly they were things Jesper did, like when he would hold Wylan and demand a toll to release him, but this one Wylan had invented. The apology game. No one stated the rules. They simply evolved and _were_ and Jesper loved it. He loved how fun their games could be in better times and the framework those games gave them when bad memories threatened to overwhelm either of them.

Wylan snickered. "Study buddy," he repeated.

"One of your many talents."

"Unlike wordplay, which is clearly your kingdom."

"Mm," Jesper replied, feeling Wylan begin to lean against him. The adrenaline was fading. Jesper unlaced their fingers to wrap his arm around Wylan's shoulders, inviting Wylan to lean more into him. They had been together for nearly a year when Wylan finally hit his growth. He was still the smaller of the two and fit tidily under Jesper's arm. Very convenient, especially at times like this. The public meetings were necessary but they wore Wylan out—not that Jesper had any complaints, either about his closeness, or about the warm windbreak he made. This was truly not the weather in which to skip one's coat.

When Jesper directed them toward a coffee house, Wylan shook his head. "We can't, Jes. Let's stop off at home instead. You need a coat."

"I'll be fine," Jesper objected, though he wanted his coat. Stubbornness required him to object.

"Jesper Llewellyn, we are going home or I will buy you a new coat, but we will not go to Second Harbor without a coat on you."

"You're not fun when you call me Llewellyn."

"I'm sorry, my love. One of us has to be practical and it's not going to be you."

Jesper snorted. "Sure, Mister Practical, the guy trying to convince the Kerch Merchant Council to invest in its schools over its weapons."

"Just you wait, that vote's going my way tomorrow morning."

"Mm, all right. Home it is. Just think what people would say if Councilman Van Eck went around with his husband in a shabby coat."

"You're not my husband yet."

Jesper laughed. "Of course, gorgeous. Just one more ring and I'll stop being hilarious."


	2. Wylan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I linked it in the previous chapter but [everyone should check out this amazing family portrait drawn by rootcellars on tumblr.](https://rootcellars.tumblr.com/post/189997340587/my-grishaversebigbang-piece-for)
> 
> 2) Hi, Beth! (When you see it you'll know ;))

Not half an hour later, Jesper and Wylan stood close together, watching a ship dock in Second Harbor. The harbor was crowded with others waiting to meet the ships—relatives coming for the holidays, vendors selling paper cones of potatoes or chestnuts. There were fewer gang members here tricking fat pigeons into their gambling halls than in Fifth Harbor, but a few would always find a way. This was Ketterdam, after all.

"He'll be the last off," Jesper said, though both scanned the group disembarking from one of the ships. "Just you wait."

"Maybe he'll surprise you."

"If my da changes his ways now, I'll eat my hat."

"Lost your coat, eating your hat… you can't be trusted with clothes."

Jesper raised his eyebrows. He didn't have to say it. Wylan heard the implication a moment too late and blushed. He looked away, but he couldn't keep from smiling at how much Jesper was laughing. He didn't mind being foolish once in a while if it made Jesper happy.

Jesper grabbed Wylan's arm. "There he is." 

"Third from last," Wylan observed, "we'll get you a lager to wash down your hat."

"Oh, like that counts!" Jesper objected. 

Together, they hurried toward the ship. Now that most passengers had disembarked, the crowd had thinned.

"Da!" 

Colm grinned. "Boys!"

He set his bag down, which was precisely as long as Jesper could wait. It didn't matter that he was an adult now, a university student with lofty aspiration. It didn't matter that he was no longer someone chasing the next high but someone who made plans and followed them. Colm was here, and Jesper was a child. Wylan saw it in his face, the openness, the brightness in his eyes. Wylan could make Jesper happy, but only Colm could make him look twelve years old again.

He hugged his da.

"Been too long, Jes."

"I missed you."

They held on for a long, long moment. When they parted, Colm looked Jesper over, like he was looking for injuries or signs of distress, and he wouldn't find any.

"Wylan."

Wylan was happy for Jesper to be with his da, especially compared to that first time in the Boeksplein. There was no nervousness now, no anxiety. Jesper was just happy.

That wasn't to say Wylan hesitated even a moment when Colm waved him over. He had given the Faheys their space. But, Ghezen's works, he wanted to be a part of this family. There were more words in Wylan's life now, words for debates, bits of poetry he had memorized from when Jesper read to him, but he had no words for the feeling of being hugged by Colm Fahey. It was everything safe and sure and warm.

"All right, Wylan," Colm said.

He was very patient, but Wylan needed those reminders. Jesper and Colm had both said that Colm could be Wylan's da, and Wylan had grown up plenty these past years, but he still didn't really know how to be someone's son.

"It's good to see you again," Wylan said, making some scrap at salvaging his dignity.

"I love a good reunion, but it's supposed to snow tonight." Jesper took Colm's bag and suggested, "Why don't we all head home where there are walls and fireplaces and other anti-snow things?"

"I didn't think you minded snow."

"I don't mind snow. I mind being caught out in it. You know, I'm starting to think he's only with me because of you," Jesper teased.

Wylan blushed. "How was your trip?"

"It was well enough. Water's a little rough this time of year."

"We're glad to have you."

"I'm happy to be here."

"Hey, go on," Wylan said, reaching across Colm to give Jesper a nudge. "Tell him!"

Colm's attention flitted briefly to Wylan before settling on Jesper, patiently awaiting this news. Jesper had gone quiet. It took serious happenings to quiet him. His eyes were glittering and—was he blushing? Wylan smiled to himself. Jesper was _blushing._

Jesper brought his hand up, showing off the ring.

To say Wylan was a traditional merchant would be a lie too filthy for even the Bastard of the Barrel, but he made his shows of respect for the culture. He wore his suits in funerary black or the occasional cheery charcoal gray. He drank little. He tithed to Ghezen. None of that made an ounce of difference when he decided to put a band of little diamonds on his now-fiancé’s finger.

"Saints!" Colm exclaimed. "Congratulations!"

Colm hugged Jesper and held him tight until Jesper reminded him there was snow due that evening and they'd be better at home, not freezing to death.

As they headed down the path along the Geldcanal, Wylan added, "He won't wear his gloves. I should have given him a necklace."

"If you'd given me a necklace, I wouldn't wear my scarf."

"An earring, then."

"Then I would be uneven. I would have to leave my ears at home," Jesper said.

Wylan knew that was nonsense. Knowing didn't stop him laughing!

"I'm doing my best to look after him, Da," he promised. Several years ago, on a visit to Novyi Zem, Colm had given Wylan permission to call him that. 

"It's not an easy job, boy," Colm said sympathetically, wrapping an arm around Wylan's shoulders. Wylan had grown accustomed to the chill in the air, but the warmth of that half-hug and the stirring warmth he always felt when Colm did something especially paternal reminded Wylan of the numbness in his ears and on the tip of his nose.

Jesper scoffed. "Just what I need. You two conspiring."

"It's called agreeing, Jes."

"Conspiring," Jesper sulked.

Wylan reached for his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "I love you, you know."

Jesper gave him a grudging smile. "I guess I'll still marry you."

"Do you know when?" Colm asked.

"We wanted to talk with you first, to be sure you could be there," Jesper explained.

Wylan knew Jesper couldn't imagine being married without his da there. He didn't like the thought, either. Though he presumed the marriage would be in Kerch, Wylan didn't mind if Jesper wanted it in Novyi Zem. Marya would surely be up to the trip—just as Jesper wanted his da at the wedding, Wylan couldn't imagine the day without his mother.

They both knew there were more preparations to make. They hadn't started thinking about it, not yet. They had a promise to each other to marry. Right now, the promise was more than enough.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Colm said. "You tell me when."

Wylan stifled a contented sigh. Years on, he still loved being adjacent to Colm's parenting. He knew that wasn't addressed to him, but being a spectator was enough. Colm still had an arm around Wylan's shoulders and Wylan was almost overwhelmed by the familial scene.

Jesper continued, "We haven't settled anything about last names. There's the business under Van Eck—"

"But then it is my father's name, so clearly Fahey is preferable." Even Marya no longer used Van Eck.

"Except that our sister is a Van Eck. I think we ought to scrap the lot. He should take Llewellyn. It has a nice ring to it, wouldn't you say? Wylan Martin Llewellyn?"

Wylan dismissed that one out of hand: "No one thinks that has a nice ring to it, Jes. We might take each other's names, Fahey-Van Eck. Or Van Eck-Fahey."

In general, Wylan would not play along with these jokes in front of Colm, but he knew part of the joke was Jesper's own dislike of the name Llewellyn. It wasn't about the name itself.

"You're just tasteless," Jesper said, dismissive.

"I'm marrying you, aren't I? And my middle name is not Martin."

"Whatever you say, Mister Llewellyn."

"And in this circumstance, are you then Jesper Llewellyn Llewellyn?"

"No, I'm Jesper Llewellyn Fahey Llewellyn."

"Of course. How foolish of me."

"I overlook your foolishness because you're pretty."

Wylan sighed and shook his head. "I worry sometimes about raising children with you…"

"Sweetpea's fine."

"Van Ecks are resilient. If Alys couldn't ruin our sister, you're certainly not capable of it."

"It's hurtful when you doubt me. It weakens our love, Wylan."

Reminded of the subject, Colm asked, "How are things with your sister?"

They had explained the situation in their letters, but letters could only cover so much. Colm knew that Jesper and Wylan had taken in Wylan's half-sister after her mother ran off, and he knew she was a peculiar child. 'Peculiar' only just scratched the surface.

Hopefully Wylan didn't sound relieved. He knew when he had been outwitted.

"Well enough," he said. "She can be shy, but she'll warm up to you. If she's frightened of you…" They'd readied her for the visit as best they could, but new people tended to make her defensive. Even though they promised Colm was not just a friend but her brother's da, the same person from Jesper's stories about the farm, Wylan anticipated a rocky start.

"I wouldn't take offense from a baby."

Wylan wanted to say that she was an especially caustic baby, but Jesper shot him a look and he kept the thought to himself. There had been a point they started including in the ads that they wouldn't pay a nanny who quit within the first week.

"Have you thought about what you'd like her to call you?" Jesper asked. "Kerch children call their elders 'tante' and 'onkle' as a way to show respect—Wylan's mother is Tante Marya. We haven't told her what to call you, but Onkle Colm would make sense to her."

"Otherwise she'll call you Jesper's Da," Wylan added. "That's how we've been describing you."

They hadn't realized it, but by describing him the same way repeatedly, they had taught her what to call him.

"Either one is fine. How is your mother, Wylan?"

"She's well. She's been well since her health improved in March."

Marya had been sick last winter, sick enough to mix her up, and it had been her first separation from the present in years. In general, though, she was once again a merchant lady as she had been fifteen years ago, albeit a gentler one than some. She accepted that Wylan put his faith in the Saints over Ghezen, and she had exchanged a few letters with Colm.

Not that everyone was entirely thrilled on the latter. Jesper would have preferred Colm not learn about the time he put a football through the sitting room window! Honestly, it happened _once_!

"Here we are," Jesper said.

Colm gave the mansion a look-over.

"Everything okay, Da?"

"I suppose I forgot how big a place it is."

"Wylan's ridiculously wealthy," Jesper said. Teasing him about his wealth used to make Wylan blush. That no longer worked—so Jesper added with a wink, "I'm marrying well!"

Wylan blushed and shook his head. "Not as well as I am. Please come in."

He held the door for Colm and Jesper. Wylan's time living in the Barrel had significantly changed him from the boy he was before. It made him ask why. Why him? Why should he not have to do the small tasks? So he did what other merchants did not. He had learned to fight, to clean up after himself; he could cook a bit; he held doors. He was useful, even outside the debate scene.

Colm looked around, eyebrows inching toward his hairline. Wylan might have moved toward simplicity—relatively—but he hadn't designed the Van Eck mansion. The less than subtle tile on the floor, the mahogany inlay on the walls, the sheer volume of gold leaf…

"I inherited it," Wylan said, self-consciously seeing the place through Colm's eyes. "Can I take your coat?"

"Nice subject shift," Jesper said.

"Oh, hush," Wylan told him.

They moved on to other pleasantries, but even Jesper hadn't managed to banish the awkwardness when Wylan cleared his throat and jerked his chin toward the doorway to the sitting room. A small figure half-hid there, big blue eyes peering out from a filthy face.

Colm chuckled at the state of her. "That'll be my son's influence."

"Sweetpea, come and join us," Wylan said.

She shrank back.

"It's okay." Jesper went to take her hand, unbothered by the dirt on her face, hands, and much-abused pinafore. "Come on, I want you to meet my da."

She looked to Colm, wide-eyed, then looked back to Jesper and shook her head, giggling.

"He isn't," she said.

"He is, too," Jesper replied.

"No."

Wylan offered, "Neely, we talked about this."

She shook her head. "No."

Jesper crouched in front of her and gave one of her braids a tug. "Why not, kit?" he asked.

"That's just stories!" she said.

Jesper and Wylan glanced at one another, then Jesper asked, "You think fathers are stories?"

"They _are_ stories!"

Another glance. They were used to all sorts of childish beliefs and rarely discouraged them. If she wanted to believe in conversations with birds or that Sankt Nikolai truly left gifts for good little girls and boys, where was the harm? Childish disbelief was another matter entirely.

"So who do you think this is?" Jesper asked, indicating Colm.

Neely shrugged. "Sankt Nikolai?" she guessed.

They could not help laughing. Neely pouted.

"He's not Sankt Nikolai, he's my da. He is really and truly my da, I promise."

She regarded Jesper, then Colm, and chewed on the end of her braid as she processed this new information.

"Is the deal the deal?" she asked—the ultimate Kerch promise.

"The deal is the deal," Jesper and Wylan replied together.

Neely's eyes lit up and her mouth dropped open. Apparently her belief that fathers do not exist had been sincere, and this undeniable challenge to it astounded her. She goggled at Colm. Then she blushed, giggled, and buried her face in Jesper's chest. He wrapped his arms around her.

They were interrupted then by hurried footsteps.

Wylan sighed. "That'll be Lise, won't it?"

His sister shrugged.

"Neely, there you are!"

"It's all right, Lise," Wylan said, jumping past any apologies.

The young woman had been Neely's nanny for six months, and Wylan and Jesper were happy with her. Yes, their sister was becoming quite the escape artist, but Lise was a patient and good-natured girl who did not mind Wylan and Jesper's general dismissal of Kerch expectations for merchants, girls, or—especially—merchant girls.

"I can wash her up at least."

"No," he said, "you've already stayed late and I appreciate that. I can handle one bath." If he could handle the Merchant Council, he could manage this! After they had exchanged pleasant farewells and Lise gone on her way, Wylan said to Colm, "Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for the invitation."

Jesper kissed Wylan's cheek and tapped Neely on the top of the head. "Be good for your brother, sweetpea."

She looked at Colm again before softly telling Jesper, "Will."

Not that Wylan would say as much, he did not wish to encourage his sister to run around looking like a little dirt-sprite (not that she needed encouragement), but this created a perfect opportunity for Jesper to have a moment with Colm. Wylan would be balancing that over the course of Colm's visit, finding the right amount of time to be close, the right amount to stay away. He wanted to be Colm's son. Colm even let Wylan call him 'da'. But Jesper was his real son.


	3. Jesper

Watching Colm take in their surroundings made Jesper remember his own first days in the mansion. He and Wylan had both been a mess, and though they had known the other boy only a matter of weeks, Matthias's death had stayed heavily in their hearts. Jesper had freely distracted himself with the opulence of his surroundings. Fine things, good liquor, a merchling to fluster and kiss—what else could a man ask for?

Clearly Colm felt less comfortable.

"You get used to it, Da," Jesper said.

"I don't know that I will," Colm replied, his eyes wide as he looked around.

"We're happy you're here. I'm happy you're here."

He was, and had been looking forward to this visit for months. So why did he feel so… disappointed? He wanted to tell himself there was a specific reason. Maybe the semester ended on a bland note after an uninspiring class?

"It's good to see you, Jes."

"Will you be all right here?" Jesper asked, opening the door to a guest bedroom.

His da was a simple man. Jesper had never shared that simplicity. He liked excitement and fine things, he liked big cities. Da… he just wasn't like that. Jesper hoped he could settle in enough to see the mansion as comfortable.

"This'll be fine."

"You'll come down for supper, won't you?"

"Stay with me. Tell me about your studies."

So while his da settled in, Jesper talked about his coursework at the university. He realized this was what they should have had years ago. He should have been seventeen or eighteen, sitting in the kitchen at home. What would he have talked about then? His initial enrollment had been for economics. Jesper still thought he would have done well at economics, but his studies now had more meaning for him.

Colm summarized, "You'd be a schoolteacher?"

He didn't sound disappointed. Maybe it wasn't the great things Colm always used to say Jesper was capable of, but it was a respectable profession.

"Not exactly, Da. I'm training as a teacher, but what I want doesn't exist yet. I want to work with students like me or Neely."

He didn't mention Wylan, although Wylan had been another reason Jesper wanted to become a teacher for students who were different. Sometimes he thought Wylan _could_ be taught to read, not without difficulty but beyond what Jan Van Eck had managed. They had been to the Southern States shortly after the States declared independence, not really a holiday but they had found an afternoon for the beach. Jesper had worked with Neely on her writing. She was still too young to write especially _well_ , but they drew letters in the sand. She was too young to know any better, too, and just wanted her brother to join in, but Jesper was certain something had happened—something more than just himself and Wylan writing out Jesper's name in the sand.

He hadn't mentioned it since. Reading and writing carried too much pain for Wylan. One day, Jesper hoped to revisit the issue, but not until Wylan was ready.

Colm looked over sharply. "There's nothing wrong with you, Jesper."

"There's nothing wrong with any of us," Jesper replied.

Jesper had stayed leaning on the doorjamb. Colm took a seat on the bed and looked steadily at him as he said, "You just had that extra energy to burn off before you could learn the way another student could. Look at you now."

"But what if there had been someone when I was little?" Jesper asked. "What if someone could have helped me belong in the schoolroom?"

The concept hurt him for all of two days, until Wylan got it out of him and pointed out that they probably never would have met and Jesper wouldn't be where he was today. He would have been fine, Wylan had hurried to add, maybe playing the Exchange or even working the farm beside his father back in Novyi Zem, but Jesper heard the implication. Jesper liked where he was today. He liked who he had.

"You did belong. You're plenty smart, lad."

"Da…"

Jesper didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to explain that he _knew_ he was smart. So were Wylan and Neely. They were different—that didn't mean less smart. If anything, Jesper thought they were smarter than most, though he kept that opinion to himself.

He didn't know how to make his da understand that it didn't mean there was anything wrong with Jesper, just different.

"Da, I can help a lot of kids," he said.

Whatever Colm might think about Jesper and his fitness for traditional classrooms, he couldn't disagree with that logic. Could he?

Colm nodded. "Well, now, I'm sure you will. That's worth doing."

Jesper's smile was tight, weighted with the sense that Colm didn't really understand… but they had time, didn't they? Time to explain?

Sure they did.


	4. Wylan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The holidays aren't the holidays until you've argued politics with your parents, right?

Wylan knelt on the floor, sleeves rolled up, and stuck his wrist in the bath. It was hot, but he still needed to comb out Neely’s hair. It would cool.

As he untied the ribbon at the base of her braid, he asked, “Do you want to tell me about your day? Or shall I tell you?”

“You tell me.”

“Okay.”

He unwove her braid, taking the first clue easily: “You visited the horses.”

Wylan liked horses well enough. He chose to keep horses, despite their utter impracticality in Ketterdam, because Jesper and Neely loved them. It wasn’t lost on either of them that when she rode a horse, Neely talked—volunteered things about herself, openly, without prompting.

Which made his next guess obvious, “And the kitties.”

He finished with the braid and took a hairbrush, started working out the worst tangles. It would make brushing her hair again after the bath easier.

“You visited the boneyard.”

Neely adored the horses and the cats that made a home in the stables when winter hit, but the dead mice and birds the cats left broke her little heart. So they had set aside a little patch of land and she buried them. Wylan wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that she liked to play there, building little faerie houses, but it was the likeliest explanation for the amount of dirt she wore.

“And… you had tea and toast for lunch.”

Neely giggled.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“All yes?”

“All yes!”

Wylan lifted her into the bath. He let her splash for a bit before they got down to the business of washing.

"So, fathers are real," Wylan started a conversation he never imagined he would need to have as he worked soap into his sister’s hair.

"Yes," Neely agreed. She sat still, her eyes squeezed shut to avoid the stinging suds.

"Do you know what a father is?"

He had not gone out of his way to explain their relationship to Neely. Alys took herself out of the picture years ago. He hadn't wanted to stress the separateness between them, so simply left it at that—they were brother and sister, and he loved her and would take care of her.

"Like a mama, but a man?"

"You're not wrong," he agreed.

It wasn't often Wylan stepped in at bath time, but he didn't mind. Bedtime was Jesper's domain, a routine of stories. They had reading and writing, they shared a language—Jesper had spoken Zemeni to Neely since she was two years old and she was as good as fluent now, while Wylan had only picked up a bit. And Jesper, well, he had the warmth and gravity of a star. Sometimes Wylan felt like, although he spent plenty of time with their sister, he didn't have the presence in her life that Jesper did. He didn’t mean as much. They didn't have that routine, and he wished they did.

"What are mamas?" he asked.

"Ladies who make babies."

Again, she wasn't wrong.

Wylan hesitated over the question, then followed up, "How do mamas make babies?"

"In a cauldron. They boil it in a potion."

He bit down on his tongue to keep from laughing. It was perhaps a touch worrying, but… well, it wasn't _not_ funny!

"Ready to rinse?"

"Yes."

"Shut your eyes extra tight."

Wylan tilted Neely's head back and poured water over her hair, scrubbing his fingers through it to get out as much soap as possible. When he was finished, she shook her head hard.

Wylan yelped as water splashed across his shirt. “Oh, thanks, Neely!” he cried, but he was laughing. As he reached for a towel, he continued, "So if that's what a mama is, what are brothers?"

Neely splashed at the wooden duck bobbing in the water, making it float away from her. Matter-of-fact, she said, "Brothers love you anyway."

He wasn't sure exactly what that meant. He liked it, though.

"And sisters?"

"That's like me."

"Time to get out."

She sighed and stepped out of the bath, into the waiting towel. As he dried her off, Wylan asked, "What about me and Jesper?"

"My brothers."

"What's Jesper to me?"

"Going to be your husband. Husbands is… is when you trade rings and promise promise to be each other's best favorite forever. And you do lots of kisses and that business."

An apt definition if ever he heard one.

"Jesper is my best favorite. Do you think I'm his best favorite?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

"Arms up."

He helped her into a clean dress.

"One braid or two?"

"One braid, please."

As Wylan combed out Neely's hair, he asked, "Do you think anything changes after Jesper and I get married?"

Neely thought it over. "Jesper said you're stuck with him."

This time Wylan did laugh. "He said that, huh? Easy, sweetpea, words. Don't nod while I'm braiding your hair. You know Jesper and I will still be your brothers once we're married, hm?"

"Yes."

"And we'll still love you."

"Yes."

"And you'll still be our brilliant, wonderful little sister."

She giggled. "Yes."

"You promise?"

"Promise."

He tied a bow at the end of her braid.

"Now. Shall we go see what my future husband and his father are up to?"

"Dog?" she asked. Her favorite toy and frequent companion, the stuffed dog named Dog had followed Neely for years.

"Dog can come, too, but I want you to say something to Jesper's da." When he didn't get an answer, Wylan prompted, "Sweetpea."

She pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head the way only very small children do, so hard her shoulders shook as well.

"He's not scary, Neely. Hey. Do you know why I want you to talk to him?"

"Manners?" she guessed.

He had asked more than one behavior Neely found inexplicable in the name of good manners, but this time, Wylan had a different answer. 

"It is good manners, but this time it's because Jesper's da is important to me. He's family. For me, will you promise to say something to him?"

Softly, she said, "Promise."

When the Van Ecks found them, Jesper and Colm were up to drinking tea in the sitting room. Wylan joined them, pouring himself a cup and already piecing together the news from Novyi Zem. Reserved though he could be, Colm Fahey seemed to keep up with each of his neighbors, and Jesper knew most of them.

Neely slipped to the ground and retrieved a book. They were placed strategically in nearly every room now—a book somewhere, a soft blanket folded on a chair. Those sorts of precautions made life so much easier.

"You should hear about Wy's work," Jesper said, once they were caught up on news from home.

Wylan shook his head. "I couldn't—"

But before he could protest, they heard the front door open. Wylan was on his feet in a heartbeat. That would be his mother, and though she was much improved since she first came home from the asylum, he hadn't lost the habit of feeling protective toward her. Those first weeks… there had been so many stares and whispers, and Marya only half-way remembering…

They had not been a demonstrative family, before. Wylan hugged her now, just to say hello.

"How was it?"

"It was fine, Wylan. You would have been terribly bored."

"Probably."

Marya, as good Kerch women do, had thrown herself into charity work. Lately her group was knitting socks for orphans.

"Jesper's in the sitting room with his father, will you come meet him?"

"Oh, of course. Of course I will."

Watching their parents meet was… surprising. If Neely had been cold, Marya's warmth made up for it. They smiled at each other like old friends. Wylan and Jesper traded looks. They had known their parents wrote to one another. It seemed they underestimated just how often they wrote!

"It's wonderful to finally meet you in person," Marya said at last.

Wylan poured her a cup of tea as she joined them.

"Good evening, sweetpea." Marya had picked up the nickname as well.

"Good evening, Tante Marya."

"Sweetpea," Wylan said. He nodded in Colm's direction. She was already chatting—it was a good time to fulfill their promise.

Neely turned her wide blue eyes to Colm. Jesper promised her eyes were just like Wylan's and nothing like Jan's, that their eyes were kind, but it could unnerve him sometimes.

"Something," Neely said, and returned to her book.

Jesper burst out laughing as Wylan put his head in his hands, half unable to believe he'd made such a mistake.

"Wy wanted her to talk to you," Jesper explained, "she promised to say something—didn't you, sweetpea?"

"Yes."

Jesper grinned. "You're doing great," he told her, aware that as she understood it, she had followed Wylan's instructions. He pulled Wylan into a hug.

"I know," Wylan said.

"Do you, though? Do you?"

Wylan didn't answer, and didn't have to, because they were interrupted very politely by a servant telling them dinner was on the table.

"We’re on our way, thank you, Addam.”

Addam nearly glowed and Wylan wished he wouldn’t, it had only been politeness, just as he wished Colm Fahey were less visibly uncomfortable being here.

Wylan left the room quickest, to have a word with Addam—“You don’t have to stay to tidy up.”

“I don’t mind, Mister Van Eck.”

He had figured that, but made the offer anyway.

When they reached the dining room, Neely grabbed a handful of Wylan’s trousers and tugged to get his attention. He hadn’t considered this—obviously, since they had a guest, seating arrangements were somewhat changed. Normally they sat two on either side of the table, Wylan with Marya and Jesper with Neely. But now there were five of them.

It was second nature to Wylan. Of _course_ they were having a different seating arrangement. And of course it meant him and Jesper at opposite ends of the table, and it was only proper etiquette that Colm was meant to sit by Wylan since Wylan was the host, not that Colm would care, nor Wylan, but that’s how things were _done._

“I know it’s a little different tonight,” Wylan said, “but look, it’s your cup.” The cup in question was pewter; the four-year-old tended to drop things and it was deemed all around best she not use a glass cup.

She looked up at him and shook her head.

“Try it, and if you absolutely hate it, you can eat in the kitchen.”

Apparently satisfied with that, she scrambled into her seat.

No one else objected. Jesper poured wine for everyone but the Van Eck siblings—giving Wylan a look that promised he would hear about this later. Wylan just rolled his eyes at Jesper, who gave him a look of utter shock. He didn’t need to say it: a _proper merch_ being so _rude_ and so _ill-mannered_ and honestly _I never_! Neely was too young and Wylan didn’t care for alcohol. His first experience of trying hard liquor and promptly hurling up his dinner had thoroughly soured the concept, making drinks Jesper’s area of expertise in the relationship. One of many.

Jesper was also the one to say grace over his plate of hachee and potatoes, though if Colm’s expression was anything to go by, he was not persuaded by his son’s show of piety. Well, he was right. Jesper was only praying to make his da happy.

"We were going to hear about the Merchant Council," Colm said, redirecting the conversation once Jesper had finished demonstrating that he in fact did know how not to be a complete heathen.

"Yes,” Wylan replied, “there's an emergency session tomorrow morning. There's a dispute over the tax allocations. I want to see it dedicated to improving the education and health services in Ketterdam, others would see it spent on building more submersibles."

He kept an eye on Neely, who could be strange with food. She carefully picked out a single piece from her stew and placed it tentatively in her mouth.

"We do need to be ready to defend our country," Marya said.

"Kerch has a more than strong navy, Mama, not to mention the Tides and our trade relationships. We're not weak."

He hated to hear her recite the propaganda Schenck and his ilk used to trick the Kerch population into supporting them.

"Hiram Schenck leads the side pushing the submersibles angle," Jesper added. "And he really doesn't like Wylan."

"He owns the mines that would produce the ore," Wylan grumbled. Hiram Schenck’s dislike of Wylan was not relevant to his support for the submersibles. He was just greedy and selfish.

"And he hates you."

"That's not—it's _true_ but it's not the reason."

"Have you tried making your peace with him?" Colm asked.

"Oh—um—I don't think it would work. He resents some of my contracts in Ravka and the Southern States."

"Schenck can be harsh," Marya agreed. His wife was in the same charity work group with Marya, as were many of the other wives, sisters, even some of the daughters. "But that doesn't mean he's always wrong."

"No, but this time he is," Wylan said.

"Defense is important, Wylan."

"So is having something to defend. Don't forget what constant wars did to Ravka, the people learned to live in poverty. They forgot they could have anything else, they forgot how to have something to fight for. And unless we seriously increase our investment in identifying and training Kerch Grisha, we won't have the Squallers to keep those submersibles moving."

Jesper grinned. “Isn’t he wonderful when he gets this way?” he said, tossing back half a glass of wine and pouring himself another.

“Yes,” Marya agreed.

“Traitors,” Wylan complained.

“You’re horrible this way,” Neely said without looking up from her dinner.

Wylan reached over and patted her shoulder. He knew she didn’t mean that, was simply reacting to the fact that he had expressed dislike for Jesper and Marya’s praise.

“Time for bests?” Jesper suggested. “We share the best part of our day,” he explained to Colm, “like the best part of my day was that you came to visit.”

Marya shared that Isa Visser had joined her ladies’ group for the afternoon, having recently returned from boarding school for the holidays.

“That’s wonderful, Mama,” Wylan said, hesitant because his mother did on occasion still imply she would like to see him married to a woman. Not everyone in Kerch considered same-sex marriage legitimate. Isa was only fifteen if Wylan remembered correctly, but in a few years… so he was always reserved on the subject of young women. To Neely, he said, “Five more bites.”

She held up three fingers.

“Five, we’re not bargaining.”

Neely sulked, but scooped up a bite of dinner and popped it in her mouth.

“I suppose it’ll be my turn, then?” Colm asked.

“You don’t have to, Da,” Jesper said.

“No, I don’t mind. I’ll have two, though—seeing you boys again and meeting Marya and Neely.”

Marya smiled.

“That’s lovely. Thank you.”

“Yeah, but exactly how many letters have you two exchanged?” Jesper asked. “I know _someone_ reported the incident with the sitting room window…”

Wylan laughed. “That was years ago, Jes!”

It was true, though, that Marya wrote to Colm about the day Jesper kicked a football through the sitting room window. She had found the entire situation endearing—her son had never been one for laughter and playing, and it was late but nonetheless wonderful for her. Colm was rather less amused.

“My best is the same,” Wylan added, “having my whole family together.”

“Wylan,” Neely said.

Jesper gasped dramatically.

“Ha-ha,” Wylan teased.

“How could you,” Jesper said.

Wylan gave him a superior look.

“It’s not fair we play before bedtime, I’d always win if we played after bedtime.”

“If we played after bedtime, Neely would be asleep.”

Jesper scoffed. “Details.”

They stayed at the table, laughing and drinking, until Marya excused herself to bed. Not long after that, Jesper observed that they were past someone's bedtime. He scooped up their half-sleeping sister.

She squirmed in objection, but it was sleepy and half-hearted.

"You want to say good night?"

Neely picked up Dog's paw and waved it. Jesper gave them both one last 'see you soon' smile before carrying her out of the room.

Wylan watched him go, well aware and not caring that he had a goofy smile on his face.

"I was worried when I brought her home," he told Colm softly, "can you believe that? I hadn't asked him, I hadn't had a chance, her mother ran off and Neely didn't have anyone else. Her grandparents didn't want her. Almost two years old, she hadn't spoken a word, sometimes she would just… scream. I thought, what if he couldn't love her? But Jesper saw this little girl who couldn't communicate, who was not his family, and he… he didn't have to do anything he did. He's never treated her like anything less than his own. That was when I knew."

Before, Wylan hadn't thought about the future with Jesper. He had been happy to remain blissfully intoxicated on the present. They were still teenagers when they became the closest their sister had to parents, and it made Wylan think about a lot of things differently. He knew it had impacted Jesper, too. Not much later, he had started talking seriously about going back to school.

And Wylan… Wylan hadn’t mentioned to anyone that when he watched Jesper and Neely together, he thought about what a great dad Jesper would be.

"He's been well?" Colm asked.

Wylan nodded. He knew what Colm meant. "He's happy. He slips sometimes, but it's rare. Not in almost five months now. He's doing so well. I think that's part of the reason he wanted you to be here. He wants you to be proud of him."


	5. Jesper

Jesper loved living in the Van Eck mansion. He had since the day he moved in. Wylan's family might have a history of showing their mercher restraint in public, but in private, they liked the finer things plenty. This mansion held the plushest settee he had ever sprawled across, the softest bed he had ever slept in, even the soap created a thick and prettily scented lather. Jesper had no trouble developing a taste for _that_ part of the mercher lifestyle!

Much as he enjoyed the mansion, though, no part of it compared with their bedroom. It was where Jesper felt the most alone with Wylan, where they had shared some of their most wonderful moments. Some of the worst, too. Wylan's nightmares weren't as bad as they had been in the beginning, but Jesper still saw him through some difficult nights. Wylan was the one crazy enough to say those weren't inherently bad moments. Something about trust and comfort and not being afraid.

 _Guess I just don't get it,_ Jesper had said, _since I'm never afraid of anything._

Wylan's fault, the lot of it, he was the one who decided it was romantic to say Jesper was his hero.

All of which added up to Jesper loving their bedroom. It was the very nicest part of a very nice place to live, even when it wasn't the end of a long day. The excitement and stress of his exams, coupled with his father's arrival, had him ready to curl up and sleep for days. Cuddling first, though. Then sleeping for days. One must have one's priorities in order!

Jesper let himself into the bedroom quietly.

Wylan looked up. He was in bed, drawing—because of course he was—and he smiled incredibly unfairly at Jesper. It wasn't his shining, bright smile. It was gentle, open. Utterly unfair.

"Have I mentioned lately what an absolute cheat you are for maintaining this ability to melt my cold, calculating heart with nothing but a smile?" Jesper asked, striding over to the bed.

Blushing faintly, Wylan murmured, "You've always liked me with nothing but a smile."

Jesper laughed. "I am a terrible influence," he said.

He buried his fingers in Wylan's hair, holding him close while they kissed. He was glad Wylan kept the curls. They were part of his image, the boyish charm seemed to encourage his popularity as a politician. If Wylan ever wanted to grow up and have serious hair, Jesper would support him. For now, he liked playing with Wylan's curls.

"The worst," Wylan agreed.

After a few minutes of kissing, though, he placed his fingers on Jesper's lips.

"First…"

Jesper whined at him softly.

"Jesper," Wylan said, moving his hand to the back of Jesper's neck, thumb stroking idly, "darling, love of my life…"

"Uh-oh. Why am I in trouble?"

"Why exactly does our sister believe mothers are witches who make babies in their cauldrons?"

Jesper burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. He had never explicitly told Neely that was where babies came from, but it was… well, it was hilarious!

"Jesper," Wylan scolded, but his tone had all the sharp edges of a cotton ball.

"I didn't tell her that. Not in those words. She never asked me where babies come from."

"And I don't want to tell her," Wylan allowed, "not yet, but maybe you could find some more realistic stories to read to her? A mother, a father, a baby?"

"I don't know. I'd rather she believe that Alys is a witch who made her in a cauldron and flew off on her broomstick, than one of two people who should have loved her and protected her but instead she flew off on her music teacher's broomstick."

Jesper saw Wylan trying not to laugh—and the moment they both realized he would fail. Wylan put his head on Jesper's shoulder, shivering with laughter.

"Never," he gasped, "never tell her in those terms!"

"Never," Jesper promised. "And I'll look for some normal stories."

"Thank you."

"Now, can we resume our earlier activities?"

"Can you take your damn clothes off and get into bed? I'm freezing."

"I can see the headlines now," Jesper replied, slipping his braces off his shoulders. "Councilman Van Eck is terrible at debating in the bedroom."

Wylan snorted. "Councilman Van Eck is dumbstruck by his future husband's extreme handsomeness, more like."

"That's a terrible headline."

"Like yours is better!"

"Headlines are supposed to be news. My handsomeness is established fact. Scoot over."

Everything but Jesper's undershorts was in a pile by the bed. Wylan put his sketchbook aside and scooted—though not before casting a disapproving look at the clothes on the floor. Jesper almost laughed. Instead, he crawled under the covers and pulled Wylan close.

"Saints, you are cold!"

"But you're warm," Wylan replied.

Jesper laughed. "Should've known you wanted me for my body."

"You should've."

Not that Jesper minded in the least. The bedroom was his favorite part of the house, but his favorite part of the bedroom was this, him and Wylan, the quilt an impenetrable barrier between them and the rest of the world. He buried his face in Wylan's curls.

Wylan took one of Jesper's hands and pressed it to his lips.

"Are you worried about exam results?"

It was so far from his mind, Jesper could have laughed—but it would have been a bitter laugh and he didn't want to take them in that direction.

"It's Da. He doesn't understand why I'm doing this."

"Oh, Jes."

"If he can't understand, how will anyone else? He saw how much I struggled. He knows exactly what it's like, Saints, I thought he'd be pleased. I thought… I don't know. You didn't see his face that night in the Geldrenner. He saw the crow and cup and he knew. He's never been so disappointed."

"I saw his face today at the docks. I saw how happy he was to see you."

Jesper sighed. That didn't help.

"Hey. Roll over," Wylan said, nudging Jesper's shoulder. Jesper knew what he meant. He rolled onto his side, facing away from Wylan. Wylan cuddled close, his chest to Jesper's back and an arm around his side. "Good?"

"Yeah."

It didn't fix things, but it was still nice.

"You're building something new. It's going to take time for people to understand, but that's just because of your vision. Not everyone can see potential how you do."

"But Da should," Jesper replied. "He should understand that some kids need extra help. I did. But instead he—it's like he thinks I'm saying that I'm different so I'm dumb."

He didn't realize until the words were out that _different equals dumb_ was precisely what Wylan's father had believed.

"I didn't mean—"

"It's okay. I understand." Wylan kissed Jesper's shoulder. "I understand. Just keep going."

Jesper sighed. "I'm not stupid."

"No, you're brilliant."

"This is like the house of screwed up geniuses. I'm trying to build a new branch of an education system that barely exists, you're dragging a country that worships Ghezen to a system of caring for its people…"

"Neely can read," Wylan said.

"And Neely can read," Jesper allowed. It had to come from Wylan first. There was a sort of stinging, Jan Van Eck style perfection to the fact that Wylan's sister first showed her intelligence by doing the thing Wylan could not. Jesper didn't like to bring it up, even if they were going to need to face this when she started school.

"Jes, you know I love you and you know I love your da."

"You're only marrying me so he'll be your da, too."

"He's already basically my da. But he's not… different. Maybe he sees you acting this way—you've achieved so much, and he sees that. Maybe to him it looks like you don't have that restlessness anymore. I know you're managing it better," Wylan added hastily. They did not discuss Jesper's Fabrikator powers often. Since learning to use them, he had a much easier time resisting the call of the tables and he had learned to marshal his mind, at least usually and somewhat. "He loves you."

"I know. That's the problem. It's like I'm saying that I would have done better with someone to help me, like I would've done better if he had given me more."

"That's not it."

"I know, I know! And I know he did everything he could. I… he did a good job raising me."

Wylan nuzzled gently at Jesper's neck, murmuring, "You're doing so well, and you're going to do so much more good than even you realize. What do you need right now, love? Do you want me to listen, do you want my opinion, or do you want me to distract you?"

Jesper considered for a moment. The third was out—normally he was the first to opt for a good physical distraction, but with his father in his head, the idea made his skin crawl. Sometimes he just wanted to rant about whatever was bothering him. This time, though, he wanted to know how it would get better.

"Your opinion."

"To Colm, you are perfect just the way you are, and he will always love you no matter what. He's not different, not the way we are, and he… I think he sees that part of you as something you've overcome, got rid of. You understand yourself in a way he doesn't, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love you because it doesn't define you. You are not your energy. You are the way you always find the fun in every little thing. You are the fact that you saw something missing from the world and set out to create it. You are the way you treat the people you love. And believe me, Jesper, no one treats the people they love better than you."

"You do."

Jesper felt as much as heard Wylan's huff of laughter. "I just ask myself what you would do. Is it important to you that your da understand how you feel about your energy?"

Jesper hummed, noncommittal. He wanted his da to understand, but Wylan was right—Colm supported him without understanding. And Jesper had Wylan, who understood.

"I feel like I'm lying. Telling him I'm… normal now, when I'm not."

"You're not lying. You're protecting him. Everything that matters about you, the choices you make, he still sees that. Anyway, he doesn't think you're normal, he knows you're exceptional."

Jesper wasn't sure that resolved anything, but it was as far as he wanted to go tonight. Instead he changed the subject.

"Say more good stuff about me."

Wylan obediently began laying out the myriad reasons he adored Jesper. He talked about what a good student Jesper was at university, and how hard he had worked to achieve that. He talked about Jesper as a fiancé, the sweet, considerate, absolutely delightful man who Wylan knew he could trust with anything. He talked until both were getting tired and Wylan interrupted himself with yawns.

As he drifted off, Jesper said, "Hey. Wake me up tomorrow morning."

"You don't have to…"

"I don't mind. Just for a few minutes, for luck."

Wylan was quiet for a moment. The last thing he said before falling asleep was, "You are the most thoughtful boyfriend possible."

"Second most," Jesper retorted in a bleary murmur.


	6. Wylan

"Jesper," Wylan said softly, fastening his cufflinks. Jesper played possum like nobody's business, and even after sharing a bed with him for nearly five years, Wylan wasn't always certain if he was awake.

Not that he minded.

Sometimes, just saying his name, it was… nice.

"Jesper Hendriks."

If only.

"Jesper Llewellyn…"

Wylan laughed and dodged as a pillow flew past. "That got your attention," he observed, coming to sit on the side of the bed and kiss his still mostly-sleeping fiance. "You said to wake you."

"I did?"

"You did."

Jesper moaned. "I was tired, babe, you can't trust Tired Jesper."

"Mm, I'm quite fond of Tired Jesper, actually. Tired Jesper routinely tells me how much he loves me and how beautiful I am."

Jesper laughed sleepily. "If you love him so much, why don't you marry him."

"That's the plan."

"Gonna be great today, Wy, show 'em what Fahey men can do."

By the time Wylan had scraped together enough sense to answer, Jesper was snoring into his pillow.

Wylan slipped his jacket on, set his hat over his curls, and left the room as quietly as he could. There was no need to disturb anyone else who might still be sleeping. He kept his footsteps to the runner down the middle of the hallway, heading down the stairs in the dim light.

A lantern lit the kitchen. Wylan saw its glow before entering the room and smiled.

"Good morning."

The voice was soft, the words gentle and spoken over the rim of a steaming cup of coffee, a sound almost as subtle and insubstantial as that steam. It wasn't loud—but it was clear enough.

"Captain."

Inej offered her arm and Wylan hugged her. She was always welcome, but in his opinion, visited far too rarely.

He didn't ask why she was sitting in his kitchen, just as she wouldn't ask why there had been clean sheets on the bed in her usual room. She was family. She always had a place here, but that was especially true over the holidays.

"Don't suppose you left an extra cup in the pot?"

"There's plenty of coffee."

"Toast?"

"Please."

They sat together over cups of coffee and jammy toast, sipping, chewing, and trading smiles.

"How have you been?" Wylan asked after a time.

Inej looked in some ways like her old self. Those same dark eyes, same little smile, same severe braid. She held herself differently, though. She was less of a shadow and more of a presence. She had added a piercing at her nose and her clothes carried the scent of the sea.

"I'm well. The tides have been kind."

Maybe. Or maybe that was her way of saying she didn't like talking about work, so he changed the subject.

"Jes will be thrilled to see you. Colm's here, too, and Neely's been peeking into your bedroom every day for weeks."

Inej smiled. "It's good to come home."

Wylan reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, his way of saying it was good to have her. He meant it. He couldn't have been happier and hoped she would stay through the holidays. Luckily Kerch and Suli holidays did not overlap, and Inej had spent the late autumn Suli holy days with her family.

"Inej, I have to go, I have a meeting. You'll be here later, won't you?"

"I won't leave without saying goodbye."

Wylan bundled up to leave the mansion. It was too early to do otherwise. No snow fell, but a cutting wind nipped at any exposed skin. He tucked his scarf up over his mouth.

Before heading for his meeting, he took a turn toward Hanraat Bay. Docks always reminded Wylan of leaving on the _Ferolind_. Though he had left Kerch several times before and since, no trip equaled that one for excitement or significance.

Maybe he wanted the reminder, maybe he needed to clear his head. Wylan wasn't sure. He _liked_ the harbors. He liked the way the ships looked arriving and leaving, slotting tidily into place like a well-designed machine. He liked the harbors in the off-hours, when they weren't busy, but lively enough in their own way. Sometimes lively could mean quiet, and that was okay, too. He even lowered his scarf to take in the scent off the water.

A few docks were closed after a fire. Luckily, though a few people had been injured, none had been killed, but work wasn’t set to start for a week or two yet. Wylan made careful progress toward them. He could not help his curiosity, in no small part because he hoped he could help. Maybe if he understood more the path the fires had taken, he could find a way to improve fire prevention. Anything to make the people of Ketterdam a bit safer.

At first, Wylan didn't even notice it. Had a gull not flown off, trailing a suspiciously round object from its beak, he might have walked right past. Instead he frowned and traced the seagull's route back to the rocky ground between two burned docks. Was that… Wylan squinted.

And nearly vomited.

Despite everything he had seen and done in Fjerda and the Barrel, carnage still turned his stomach, especially carnage like this. Were it not for the clothing, he might not have realized the thing, that mess down on the rocks was human. It could have been meat. Offal, still shadowed in the pale early light.

Wylan drew in a breath to shout for stadwatch. Someone needed to address this, to figure out who this poor fellow was and what he was doing here in this state—Wylan assumed a man from the clothing, he wasn't certain—

"Call for help and I'll cut your throat and put you down there to join him."

The tip of a knife pressed against his neck, neatly reaching the skin above his scarf.

Wylan swallowed.

"What business, Brekker?"

"None of yours, Van Eck."

The blade separated itself from Wylan's skin. He wanted to touch it, test for a drop of blood, but forced himself not to do so. Better to show indifference to the Bastard.

Kaz hooked his cane under his arm and started down a nearby ladder.

"Come on," he rasped, "you can hold my light."

Despite being told this was none of his business and uncertainty that the burned wood could hold him, Wylan followed Kaz down to the rocks. Once his hands were off the ladder, he resettled his scarf to cover his mouth. The scent was awful—not rot, but blood. A lot of blood.

Kaz swung his cane to drive off the birds, then handed a bone light to Wylan. Wylan shook it and held it aloft.

"Sankt Grigori have mercy," he whispered.

Kaz spared him a disgusted look. "I see the years haven't taught you much. Hold the light up, I can't see."

Wylan took a step closer. The rocks were slick, the smaller pebbles shifting under his feet. The smell of blood grew stronger as he approached. He didn't know what Kaz was looking for, what Kaz was _seeing_. All Wylan saw was… death.

"Too much blood," Kaz said.

It must have been, if Kaz was bothered by it.

" _Look_. The back of the clothes are drenched, the way the cuffs of the trousers hang past the feet but not a scuff on them. This isn't what it looks like. This is fake."

"The stad—"

The knife was back in Kaz's hand.

"Why?" Wylan asked.

"We're not all merch council-members treated with respect. You think your precious stadwatch will care about one dead Shu boy?"

They should… but Wylan knew it was only hopeful. Tensions ran high between the Shu and Kerch. One of Wylan's fellow Merchant Councilmen, Karl Dryden, had married a Shu woman a few years ago, and the ugliness ranged from suggesting he only married her for political purposes because there _couldn't_ be another reason to… well, it got much, much worse. A shameful part of Wylan had been relieved even as he hurt for the Drydens. It took some of the attention off him and Jesper.

"Do you?" Wylan retorted. "Do you care? Because you're right, this is a boy, just a child, and if you're not going to do anything I _will_ bring the stadwatch and I _will_ ensure they look into this matter. He's a dead kid. Someone has to do something."

"I care," Kaz said. "I have a training spider who's Shu and two pickpockets. If someone is targeting Shu, acting on the fights your Council keeps picking and they're endangering my crew, I care."

That was Kaz. He cared because he had a personal angle. Wylan told himself he shouldn't be surprised. The years had done nothing to diminish his aspirations toward kindness, and Jesper had certainly gentled. Even Nina seemed—she seemed happier, thanks to Hanne and perhaps the improving situation for all Grisha. But Kaz and Inej, their fights were never-ending and they could not afford to soften at the edges.

Kaz turned to go. He was two rungs up the ladder when Wylan called after him, "Why does this mean someone's targeting Shu?"

Kaz turned back. "Don't ask stupid questions."

He rarely called Wylan stupid. Wylan considered it a concession to one of his weaknesses—Kaz, for all his cruelties, in his own way seemed to care about Jesper, and Jesper cared about Wylan. So when Jesper was present, Wylan did not _ask stupid questions_.

"How many, Brekker?"

Kaz frowned at something more than the question.

"This is the fourth."

Questions clouded Wylan's mind. Four. All of them so… staged? So bloody? He wondered if they had all been dumped in Second Harbor, and if not, where, and how it had come to Kaz's attention. What was Kaz doing about it? How could Wylan help? If people were being murdered in his city, _how did he help?_

He identified the most important question easily.

"Kids?"

Kaz replied with a long, steady look.

"Ghezen," Wylan swore. "Kaz, if there's anything I—"

"Just stay out of my way."

Wylan didn't like it. He didn't like seeing something like this happening to innocent kids—at that age, he didn't care what they had done. They weren't old enough to truly be anything but innocent. He believed Kaz genuinely meant to put a stop to this, though, and he knew Kaz's competence.

Wylan started for the ladder to head to his Council meeting. Maybe the best thing he could do was step back and let Kaz handle it.


	7. Jesper

"Wraith!"

Jesper swept his friend into a hug.

Inej laughed. "Jesper, I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

"Are you going to put me down?"

Jesper pretended to deliberate a moment, then deposited Inej back on her feet. His exuberant greeting had attracted the attention of other members of the household, an unintended but not unwanted side effect.

"Good morning, Inej."

"Good morning, Miss Hendriks."

"Da, you remember my friend Inej?"

Colm Fahey looked briefly uncertain. He had only spent a few days with Inej several years ago—but Jesper had made a few careful references in his letters, and after a moment Colm placed the name.

"Captain, Captain!"

"Hey, sweetpea," Inej said.

Offering up her stuffed animal, Neely said, "Dog missed you."

"Oh, I missed him, too!" Inej took the stuffed dog, gave it a cuddle, and handed it back to Neely, who grinned and squeezed the toy. Tactile as she could be, when Neely wasn't ready for direct contact, she used Dog as her go-between. Now she looked around the room, biting back giggles when she looked at Colm, and bolted. Jesper knew she would keep herself busy until she was ready for company.

"Da?"

"It's all right."

This really wasn't how Jesper imagined the holidays going. He had been… well, he had been happy, but nothing seemed as good through Colm's eyes. Jesper's professional goals had slighted him, Jesper's home made him uncomfortable, and Jesper's future sister-in-law thought he was a character out of a fairy story. And she had been raised on  _ Kaelish _ fairy stories—these weren't like the Kerch tales of mischievous little sprites, Kaelish faeries were creatures of power and appetite.

Inej gave Jesper a curious look, but he only shook his head.

She recounted, for all of them, tales of her adventures on the True Sea. She told them about fighting a storm they caught too far north, about the courage, strength, and creativity of her crew.

She told them about a tiny island way in the south where they had taken refuge and repaired the ship after a skirmish, where they found a smugglers' cache of wine barrels.

"How was the wine?" Jesper asked.

"What makes you think we drank it?"

"Because your crew is people. I've met people."

Inej rolled her eyes at him, but she said, "It was good wine. And we left coin to pay for what we took," she added with a look at Neely.

Jesper gave her a crooked look and for a moment it was like they were back at the Slat.

They weren't alone until that afternoon.

The morning had seemed well and Jesper was genuinely glad to have Inej here. They didn't see each other near enough these days.

But…

Jesper poked at the fire, then tossed in the stick, added a few more small bits of wood. Joke as he might about mercher softness, he didn't mind having a fire going through a Kerch winter. Then he stood and leaned against the mantel.

"Just us, darling," he observed.

"So it is," Inej said.

He allowed the silence to stretch.

Then, "You can tell me the truth now."

Inej regarded him from her spot perched on the back of a chair. It had always been their deal that she was safe here from all of it, that she didn't have to be the Wraith or Captain Ghafa. That if she wanted, she could just be Inej.

She hopped off the chair and crossed the room to him.

They shared a long look. Jesper read the months in her eyes, the horrors she had seen, the weight it made her carry.

Inej didn't cry, but she leaned against him and let Jesper hold her. He felt ashamed, from time to time, that Inej was fighting the thing Jesper had spent his life fearing. The least he could do was support her.


	8. Jesper

Wylan paused just inside the door, brushing snowflakes off his shoulders, off his cuffs, off his shoulders again, all the while looking stubbornly at his shoes. He stood there like he hadn't just walked into his own home.

"It's okay, Wy," Jesper murmured, drawing him into a hug.

He knew. The Council had voted against Wylan's education proposals, in favor of the unnecessary military hardware that would enrich Hiram Schenck. This wasn't just a vote for Wylan. He took these things to heart, he genuinely cared about the children of Ketterdam. Jesper cared, too, but it was Wylan who felt personally responsible for them.

"You're here," Wylan said.

"I'm here."

Wylan hugged Jesper.

"We needed this," he whispered, hoarse.

"I know."

"We still need it. They're just… they're so…"

"I know, sunshine. I know."

"They suggested using  _ property taxes! _ And I didn't say a word on their stupid tariffs against Shu goods, I didn't, someone talked Dryden into voting to raise them and there was nothing I could—I didn't fight for that one."

"The Council doesn't know anything."

They stood together, quietly holding each other and knowing this stung them both. They had taken on so many things, so many challenges to help the people of Ketterdam, but education had a special place in both of their hearts. Jesper thought about the uphill battle he faced after graduation. Educating average children seemed frivolous to more than half the Council, would they ever fund or understand educating children with different needs?

They remained until a high, thin voice asked, "Brothers?"

Wylan stepped back and, damp-eyed, gave Jesper a tight smile.

"Everything's fine, sweetpea."

She nodded.

"Come and say hello," Wylan said, crouching so she could hug him properly. She did. "Hey. Did you have a good day?"

"Captain Inej is here."

"She is?"

Neely nodded.

"That's great. That's great, I can't wait to see her."

Watching the Van Eck siblings hold onto each other, Jesper had an idea.

"Neely, if you ask nicely, maybe your brother will play the piano tonight."

She had not yet shown any knack for music, but was an enthusiastic supporter. Couldn't dance in the least, but was quite capable of jumping around with all the energy she could muster. They had watched her dart back and forth across the room until she collapsed in a giggly heap and call it 'dancing'.

A musician could not ask for a better audience than a four-year-old who thought they put the stars in the sky.

Jesper suggested it because he knew they all enjoyed music and it might cheer Wylan some.

Wylan looked up at Jesper and shook his head, but it was too late. When she stepped away, Neely already had a huge grin on her face.

"Really!?" she asked, her hands fluttering in excitement.

"I don't know," Wylan said. He sounded so tired, Jesper almost regretted suggesting it.

"Please please please please please?"

"I'm a little tired tonight."

"Oh…" Neely's lip jutted out and she looked down at her feet. "Okay."

"Too tired to dance?"

The three of them turned. They were hardly anywhere private, right there in the foyer, so it should have come as no surprise that Marya stumbled upon them. Sometimes, her appropriateness still surprised Jesper. Their unorthodox family at the moment consisted of a gangster-slash-gunslinger-turned-educational-reformer; a baby-faced, too-young firebrand Councilman; a jurda farmer; a Suli woman who had become a fearsome pirate for righteousness; the strangeling daughter of a merchant house; and… Marya Hendriks, a lady if ever one existed, graceful in her mercher black gown. She gave them all credibility.

But for all Marya's propriety, a mother couldn't love her son more. Now she raised her eyebrows.

"You're not the only person who knows how to play the pianoforte," she told Wylan.

"Please, Wylan?" Jesper asked.

Bouncing excitedly on her heels, Neely echoed, "Please?"

Wylan sighed and shook his head. "I can't say no to you."

"Yay!"

Neely had a habit of flapping her hands when she was excited. Once she had slowed enough to be approachable, Wylan gave her a quick hug and kissed her forehead. "Go on to the music room, we'll be there in a bit."

She nodded and zipped away.

Wylan straightened.

"Thank you, Mama."

She patted his cheek. They didn't see eye to eye, politically. Jesper could see how much this meant to Wylan, who looked between Marya and Jesper, smiling.

"I love you so much," he told them both.

Marya smiled.

"We put up with you," Jesper said.

"Jesper!" Marya and Wylan chorused.

They told Inej and Colm their plans for an impromptu dance party, wrangling the rest of the household. Jesper headed for the kitchen. Household management fell largely to Marya, but it had been Wylan who decided the winter holidays were for everyone and offered a paid week off to all the servants. There had been some hesitation at first, that simply wasn't done in Kerch, but year after year the same offer was extended without consequences, and this year most everyone had taken the offer. The exception was Addam, who was not quite a cook but made himself useful mostly in the kitchen.

  
  
The way he looked today reminded Jesper that Addam had a reason to refuse the holiday.

  
  
"You can stay here tonight," Jesper offered, taking in the bruising on the right side of his face.

"Thank you, that's not necessary, Mister Fahey."

Jesper thought Wylan would want him to push. Jesper didn't. He had offered and meant it, but the choice was Addam's. Instead he just shrugged and said, "We'll be taking dinner in the music room."

A meeting of their unconventional family grew quickly enough into a party. Marya settled at the pianoforte. Like Wylan, she first found her happiness there after returning to this house. It made Jesper think of Alys. Jan Van Eck had a strange habit of surrounding himself with musicians, for a man who seemed to care very little for things like fun, joy, or human expression. Unlike Alys, Marya and Wylan were actually talented—and they liked music better when it could be shared. 

Jesper grabbed Wylan's hand and tugged him to a clear spot on the floor. They spent so much time in the music room, it only made sense to have comfortable chairs. They spent less time dancing, but it was no less a necessity. 

"Come and dance with me," Inej said, extending a hand to Colm.

"I'm not much of a dancer," Colm warned.

With a gentle, crooked smile, she said, "I've danced with worse."

"She means it," Jesper added. He, Inej, and Wylan snickered at the reference to Kaz Brekker's terrible dance skills. There was a reason he rarely did it, not just to maintain his reputation, but also because he was a truly terrible dancer.

"I'll lead," Inej said. "Follow my feet here. Four steps, just like this. You see?"

With Marya at the pianoforte, Neely huddled beneath the instrument, and Colm focused on learning the steps Inej demonstrated, Jesper pulled Wylan close. "I love you," he murmured. "I love you and I love our family, and I'm going to marry you."

"Easy there, mister," Wylan replied, pulling back just enough to give Jesper a light tap on three of his shirt buttons. "I'm marrying you. If you wanted to marry me, you had four years to ask."

Jesper laughed. "Okay. Even better. I'm going to be married by you. Who would've thought after all those years of losing at the tables, turns out I'm the luckiest man in Ketterdam."

"Second luckiest."

"Saints you're ornery tonight, all right, fine. I'm the second luckiest man in Ketterdam, but it's by a very narrow margin."

"That is  _ not  _ dancing!"

They weren't dancing, that was true. They had just been holding close to one another and listening to the music.

They turned to Neely.

"And you're not eating your vegetables," Wylan retorted. 

She considered for a moment, then retreated back under the pianoforte. 

It wasn't much longer before Wylan offered to give Marya a reprieve. Jesper didn't mind the loss of a dance partner; he encouraged it so Inej could have a chance to enjoy herself. Patient as she was being with his da, she ought to have a bit of fun.

"I'll play," he said, "you must want to dance. And you and Colm might be better matched than Inej."

"He was never this cheeky before," Marya told Colm. "I don't know what's come over him lately."

Colm chuckled. "I suspect I know."

Jesper accepted the accusation with an elaborate bow, which was also an invitation to Inej. He took her hand, Wylan started a jaunty tune, and Jesper swept Inej into a foxtrot. It would be easy enough for Colm and Marya to take at half-speed. 

One of many things Jesper appreciated about Wylan was his level of trust. There were things on which Jesper was still held accountable, things where he understood Wylan's need to know and he accepted that. If Jesper slipped,  _ when _ Jesper slipped, he didn't just allow Wylan to be disappointed but forgiving, he needed Wylan to be disappointed but forgiving. He needed someone to keep him honest. Jesper's physical affection was another matter entirely. Casually hugging a friend or dancing perhaps a touch more suggestively than was necessary, it was simply how Jesper expressed affection. Wylan wasn't jealous.

_ How clearly you show affection for your friends is one of the things I like about you. What kind of person would I be if I wanted you to change, or to keep you all to myself? _

Jesper hadn't known the answer to that, so he had teased Wylan about not being a proper merch. 

  
  
Now, with Inej grinning at him and Wylan content at the piano, Colm and Marya laughing at the sort of joke that was funny when you hit an age that was rude to ask after in public, Jesper felt almost dizzy. He had always been that way, sensitive to the people around him. Sometimes it was miserable. Now it was intoxicating. It gave him the giddy, dangerous feeling that he could have kept at this all night.

Which is why, when Colm announced not much later that he was sitting out after this because his knees weren't up for much more dancing, Jesper sat beside Wylan, backwards on the piano bench.

Wylan raised his eyebrows. "I hope you're not planning to replace me."

"You can't dance with Inej. I'll get jealous," Jesper joked. They all knew it was absurd. Even  _ if _ Jesper were the sort to be jealous, which he was not, and  _ if _ Wylan were the sort to wander, which he was not, they both knew Wylan had no sexual interest in women. Everyone knew that, with the possible exception of Marya, who still seemed to think there was a possibility of biological grandchildren.

Jesper reached into Wylan's pocket for his watch, showed him the time. Then he left the bench and crouched by the side of the pianoforte. There was Neely.

Jesper glanced back at the man to whom he would soon be married and asked, "What idiots gave a four-year-old cabbage rolls and no supervision?"

"Ghezen," Wylan swore, hurrying to survey the damage. "Yep. Idiots. Come on out, sweetpea, you're past time for bed."

She would be even more past time once she got there. Her hands and face were a mess; judging from the leftovers on her plate, she had peeled open the cabbage leaves, eaten the contents, and left the cabbage. Jesper wasn't exactly surprised and washing her face and hands wouldn't take too much time. Still, this was almost worse than the time they left her alone with a piece of toast and jelly. She had picked the bits out of the jelly, then licked what remained off her toast before eating it. There had been jelly smears up to her eyebrows. 

Neely scrambled out from beneath the pianoforte. She and Wylan shared some traits, though she had her father's dark hair, but she looked just like Wylan now. She looked the way Wylan did when he was being stubborn.

"Bedtime is after bests," she informed them both.

"So it is," Wylan agreed. 

Immediately her stubbornness evaporated. "Then mine is because Captain Inej is here."

Wylan chose Jesper for his best, and with an apology to Wylan, Jesper also chose Inej. Inej chose the bed, claiming it to be the most comfortable she had slept in since her last visit to Ketterdam. Colm said he couldn't recall when he had last danced, and that it was his best part of the day. Marya said hers was Inej, that it was nice to have another woman around the house. The implication was lost on no one but Neely, who asked, confused, why that mattered when so much of the household guard was women.

"And now it truly is past your bedtime," Jesper said, picking her up.

As they left the music room, she objected, "I can walk!"

"But can you walk  _ upside-down _ ?!" he asked. He could easily enough carry her upside down, and Neely shrieked and giggled.


	9. Wylan

After Jesper had taken Neely to bed, Wylan excused himself as well. He wasn't tired so much as tired of the day. He needed to be alone, just him and Jesper, and to know that Jesper was okay. There had been a worrying glow in his eyes when he had sat at the piano bench.

That was one of the challenges in being with Jesper. Wylan adored him, trusted him, would happily spend the rest of his life wondering how to make Jesper smile or how to keep him smiling. His smile earlier had been dangerous. It had been accompanied by blown pupils and a far-off look, all too similar to how he used to look before. Wylan wanted Jesper to be happy. But he also wanted Jesper to be safe, and sometimes that meant curtailing his happiness. That recklessness could be dangerous for him.

Wylan changed into his nightshirt, cleaned his teeth, and rather than picking up his sketchbook, he leafed through the novel Jesper was reading. There were a few pictures, enough for Wylan to figure out the basics—especially since he knew from the cover it was another Staas Stijn novel. Jesper had read a few to Wylan, something Wylan enjoyed because it was Jesper. Stijn was a popular character, a bastard of a stadwatch officer, retired, with a drinking problem. Most of the time he didn't want to help solve the murders, which tended to target prostitutes more often than not, until a small child was endangered. Wylan found the books tedious and shallow; he thought Stijn was an utter podge. Jesper knew that, but beyond making his opinion clear, Wylan didn't say anything. Jesper enjoyed the books and Wylan didn't want to take that from him.

"Hey, you."

Jesper didn't surprise Wylan. 

In the early days of their relationship, when the memories of this house were still painful and raw, he had tried. It was supposed to be romantic. Wylan had tried to hide it or shrug it off, but Jesper wasn't fooled: he had been frightened. That was years off. Jesper still hadn't tried again. 

Instead he closed the door just a little too loudly and announced himself before wrapping his arms around Wylan.

"Mm, hello," Wylan said. 

"Let me look after you tonight."

Tempting. It was so tempting after a long and disappointing day to let everything go.

"Jes…"

"I know."

"Jesper, I saw how you looked earlier."

"I don't want to talk about that. I brought myself back, I'm fine."

Wylan wasn't sure that was true, but he nodded, letting Jesper have his way on this one. 

"Is Neely asleep?"

"Pretty close."

"Mama and Colm?"

"Still in the music room, getting along unsettlingly well."

Wylan smiled, half because Jesper's joke was funny, half because he liked his mama being friends with Colm. Jesper had that holdover worry that came from being a troublesome kid, the sense that any adult who knew him suddenly getting on well with his father meant he was in Very Big Trouble. Wylan did not have that concern. He loved them both and they were going to be one another's family soon enough. Maybe Colm could be good for Marya.

"I saw Kaz today," Wylan said. "And a dead kid."

Jesper was quiet for a moment. Then—"Saints, and you didn't plan on telling me? I wouldn't have pushed you to dance tonight if I knew."

Wylan shook his head. Telling Jesper what happened had been an agreement that he would cede control. Wylan could feel himself relaxing against Jesper—he had promised himself he would, too. 

"It's okay. I'm glad you did. Would you hold me tonight? That's all I want, I just want you to hold me."

"Of course I will. Give me a minute to get changed. You lie down, I'll be right there."

Wylan nodded, but when Jesper stepped away, he still felt unexpectedly cold. He shivered and crawled under the covers. He was happy. He knew he was. He was happy, he had a wonderful fiance and a wonderful family, but the day had been a long one and left him wrung out. Knowing those things wasn't enough.

He also knew what life was like for those who did not live in fine merch mansions. He knew what it was like to work hard at a thankless job, to earn a wage that made warm nights a luxury, to drink water until you thought you would burst to stave off hunger long enough to sleep. Wylan had lived that life, too, and every time he failed to convince the Council that those citizens mattered, he felt responsible for their abused bodies, cold nights, and empty bellies.

The light died out. Jesper settled into bed and Wylan snuggled close against him.

"I tried," Wylan said. He knew that. Jesper knew that. He knew that Jesper knew that. Still he needed to hear it. "I tried, I did everything I could to make them understand."

"I know," Jesper assured him.

The Council meeting was only meant to be for a few hours. Wylan had sent a runner home around lunchtime to let everyone know not to worry, the session had run long but he would be home that evening. He had _tried_ , and it had been an exhausting meeting, opinion shifting like the tide. There had been times he truly believed things would go his way. Other times he did his best despite a sense of impending doom.

"I could've done it, Jes."

"No, you did everything you could."

"I didn't. I slipped, I let Schenck get to me. He asked about her, about Neely—what will I do when she's old enough for school, what will I do if the reforms fail. The public schools in the lower districts will never be equal to those in Geldin, and it's true, they likely won't. We'll never convince the Council to fund anywhere near the same number of classrooms and teachers that we can pay for in Geldin or even Zelver. It won't be as good. Are we going to send her to the Barrel to make a point? Do I have principles if we don't? And I couldn't say it, I couldn't say publicly that I _will_ send her to a public school, it's not fair. It's not fair to her. And she's not like other children, but I could hardly say that! I froze. I didn't know what to say. I showed them all that I lacked conviction. That's why I lost today, no one should have followed me after that. I was weak."

Jesper held Wylan as he spilled the embarrassing story. Wylan was grateful to have Jesper holding him; he was furious with himself and Jesper kept him grounded to what was good in him, in his life. 

"You weren't weak," Jesper said, "Schenck is a bastard. He had no right to bring your family into the debate."

"I should've been strong enough to… I don't know what I should have done," Wylan admitted. 

Even now, he didn't know. What would he do when Neely was old enough for school? Would she even be able to go to school with the other children? He hated to think of her alone, working with tutors in this quiet old place. Part of Wylan knew it wouldn't be that way. His past was not her future. Even if she had to work at home with a tutor, Jesper and Wylan would never let her grow up unloved. 

"And the children—did I trade them for her? Did I—"

"Hey, shh, don't say that. You know it's not how things were. Schenck used our family against you, that's not your fault."

Yes, it was. It was his fault. Wylan had always known he would stand against the Council if he stood for what he knew to be right, he knew he would need to be ready, to be strong. 

Today he had been weak.

"Maybe… maybe there's still a way," Wylan ventured. Maybe there was something he could do. The idea was beginning to form in his mind, a way he could still help… 

"I know what you want, but you just can't, pet," Jesper said. He only ever brought out that endearment when they were alone. It made Wylan feel—strange. It made him feel very small and soft. It made him feel safe. 

It made him feel okay about the fact that he could not do the only thing he could think of to make this right.

"We could," Wylan insisted, weak and a little whiny.

"No. We can't sustain the schools ourselves."

"We have enough."

"Now," Jesper agreed, "but not permanently. Besides, you can't go against the Council. It could be faithless and Kerch needs you to be better."

"Rules," Wylan mourned. He took Jesper's hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing his fingers.

"What can I do?"

A slow blush crept over Wylan's cheeks, but he said, "I'm fine. Thank you."

"Honestly, Wy. There's nothing I can do? Are you calling me incompetent?" Jesper teased. He knew perfectly well that was not what Wylan meant. That didn't stop him joking.

"I am not!"

"You are. I'm wounded. You've wounded me. You can only make it better by telling me what you want."

This time he laughed and settled against Jesper. "Okay," Wylan said. "Tell me about our honeymoon."

Ooh, this old game! Usually no one was upset when Jesper started describing their honeymoon. Usually it was just for fun—which didn't mean he was ignorant of how much Wylan enjoyed it.

"We'll go to the Wandering Isle," Jesper began. He had picked plenty of destinations for them to visit in his plenty of hypothetical scenarios. They had been to Caryeva—where Jesper claimed Wylan would be too overwhelmed by the races and faint. (Wylan had pointed out he had been to the races at Caryeva before and _not_ passed out. Jesper had said, shh, unconscious people don't get a vote.) They had been to Os Alta to visit old friends and eat brandy-soaked raisins; they had gone back to Fjerda to see Nina at the new Grisha school there. 

But tonight they were going to the Wandering Isle.

"The best part about a trip to the Wandering Isle is packing light," Jesper said.

"Isn't it cold there?" Wylan asked. He had never been, but he knew it was north of Fjerda. It ought to be freezing!

"Yes, and the wool sweaters are nice. Lager, wool, and lovely seaside views, that's about all there is."

"So… why are we taking our honeymoon there, exactly?"

"So we don't miss anything when we spend the entire time in the hotel," Jesper replied. At first Wylan didn't understand—then the joke settled in and he began to blush. "That's why you can pack light, you won't need a stitch."

"Jesper!" Wylan objected, laughing, his blush peaking almost painfully hot.

Jesper laughed. "Or we can spend the whole time trekking."

Wylan groaned. They were _not_ spending their honeymoon trekking, it would be grounds for divorce. "Naked hotel room it is."

"Ah, my gorgeous, brilliant merchling. I knew you'd see reason."

"I may be your gorgeous, brilliant merchling," Wylan said. He had learned to accept praise, even if sometimes, especially nights light tonight, it sat poorly with him. "But you're a blessing. A miracle crafted by the hand of Ghezen himself."

And Wylan wasn't sure he deserved this man who, despite a near miss himself, focused entirely on Wylan, on Wylan's difficulties, and turned what had been an awful day into a wonderful evening.

"I didn't think Ghezen did any crafting."

"He doesn't. That's how special you are."


	10. Kaz

The Van Eck mansion sat quiet that night. The last of the lights had long since gone dark in the windows, leaving the building a silhouette against a dark sky. Clouds obscured the moon and stars. Snowflakes fell slowly, almost eerie, like they hadn’t quite made up their minds. They would be gone by morning.

Kaz had lost track of how many times he had broken into this place. It may as well have been a second home. He knew the locks and hallways, the nooks, the creaky floorboards. He had been here for information, yes, and on occasion for a birthday or holiday—it did him well to have a Councilman easy as putty in his hands, and there was none more easily won than Wylan Van Eck.

Tonight Kaz was not here for his long-term investment.

He chose a second-story window. The lock gave under his gentle encouragement. Kaz slipped through and to the floor in near silence. He wasn’t as quiet as his Wraith had been and the past years had changed his body in sometimes subtle ways, making its movements just a touch less easy. He wasn’t pleased with that. But he was quiet enough as he stepped down the runner in the center of the hall—wealthy nonsense, but useful for muffling footsteps.

Finding the door he needed, Kaz tapped softly.

He listened for her, but didn’t hear a sound until the door first cracked, then opened wide enough for him to step in. Inej was in many ways unchanged in the past five years, but the past seven… that was the real change. Layers of the old Inej were shed. The helpless girl. The frightened girl. Now she stood before him a fighter. She had the audacity not only to survive a world that placed no value on her, but to demand a place within it, to carve out that place. He loved her for that. Her strength. The sheer defiance of it.

Inej wordlessly set aside her knife. Kaz loosened his tie and slid the loop over his head, then left it and his jacket on a conveniently placed chair. He took off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt. She let the blue robe fall from her shoulders. Eyes on her, he removed his trousers, folded them, and set them on the chair. Inej unbuttoned her nightgown and let it pool around her feet. Kaz laid his gloves on top of his clothes.

This was ridiculous timing for their little ritual. It was cold, even in a house with sturdy walls and banked fires, but they were not the sort of people who shied away.

She let her open palm pass over a fresh scar on his abdomen. She did not touch him; she ghosted her hand close to his skin, but she did not touch.

“Dime Lions,” Kaz murmured. “Six of them jumped me one night.”

Four of them died that night. A mole in the Dregs the following day. Eight more Dime Lions lost their lives before their leader decided to give in.

He hover-brushed his hand over a mark on her shoulder.

“A rope burn, a bad one from tangled rigging during a storm. The rope was cut and it saved the ship, probably all our lives. Tegan patched me up.”

She let her fingertips ghost so close they brushed his short hair. He was surprised she had noticed that one.

He summarized it, brief and terse and not ready yet: “They missed.”

They shared their new broken pieces this way, scars and bruises worth note, marks of their most recent adventures. He benefited significantly from knowledge of her experiences. She was another source of information that he had and others didn’t… and he liked to know. About her.

When they were caught up, she took his hand and led him toward the bed.

The bed was comfortable enough to unsettle Kaz. Big enough for them to lie together, their hands clasped, space between their bodies. Her hand in his no longer made Kaz flinch. Her hand, only  _ her _ hand. More was… okay. But her hand in his was comfortable.

They put out the lamp and laid awake, watching the glimmer of each other’s open eyes and hearing each other’s breathing until the glimmer stopped and her breathing deepened. He let himself sleep, then, too.

Kaz only spent a few hours beside Inej.

Dawn twilight gave enough light to make out her face when Kaz’s eyes opened. Her face when she slept was like a secret that only he knew or could know. He watched her for a few moments, then reached over and gently pushed a lock of hair away from her face.

He left the bed and dressed without waking her. He didn’t like goodbyes.

Kaz once more stole through the Van Eck mansion like the thief that he was.

He let himself into Wylan’s office. Some things were standard for any office: desk, chair, understated decoration that said in true merch fashion  _ I have money but I won’t show you the bills _ . The portrait of Martin Van Eck had been replaced with a map—artistic and whimsical, but a nonetheless functional map. Jan Van Eck’s throne-like chair had been replaced with a normal chair. Kaz had at first been surprised to find the office without a secondary desk, until he realized of course Wylan wouldn’t have put Jesper at a little desk like most merchants did their clerks. Instead the office had a little settee and coffee table. The only logical conclusion was that they did any close work from the settee. Which was absurd. Kaz had seen them together and knew what they were like, but that did not mean he understood how anyone could stand that much touch, let alone revel in it.

He picked the locks on the desk drawers with ease—at least they made some efforts at security—and settled into Wylan’s chair to look through his papers. He was looking for particular information but didn’t ignore unrelated matters. One never knew what might become important later.

When he opened the third drawer, Kaz paused. There was a little package bearing his name in Jesper’s familiar handwriting beside a drawing of holly. He opened the package carefully. Chocolate shavings. Kaz recognized this for what it was, expensive cocoa mix, and since sending him poison with a cheery picture wasn’t the Van Eck-Fahey way of doing things, this was a gift. Blessings of Sankt Nikolai.

Kaz shook his head and returned to his work.

He was used to this house, knew Jesper, Wylan, and Marya’s habits, could estimate Colm’s. He finished his reading when the light told him it was time to leave, returned the papers to the drawers and locked them once more. He ensured Wylan's desk was as it had been—papers in the right order, pens back where Wylan left them, the rounded seashell in its place of honor beside the blotter.

Then he slipped out the window, shimmied down a drainpipe, and was gone with no trace left.


	11. Wylan

"Ready?" Wylan asked.

Jesper's face was drawn like they were preparing to attend a funeral; Wylan doubted he looked much better. Little as he wanted to complete this errand, it needed to be done—best to knock it out early.  
  
"Much as I'll ever be," Jesper said.  
  
They were sneaking out before the day was properly underway, but halfway down the staircase to the first floor, Wylan paused. He listened and heard it again: a whisper and a thump from somewhere nearby. He waited. The sound came again, preceded by pattering little footsteps that told him Neely was awake.  
  
Wylan glanced at Jesper. He had heard it, too.  
  
"We better check on her," Wylan said.  
  
One thing he had learned over the past two years, thumps and giggles accompanied all manner of mayhem. He once found Neely dropping two wooden bowls over and over to make them bounce. In her mind, it should have worked, because two bowls clapped together made a sphere, like a ball, and balls bounce. (They didn't, actually, form a sphere, but Wylan had opted against lecturing his then-two-and-a-half-year-old sister on solid geometry.) That had been one of the more harmless incidents.  
  
Today, he found her in a little-used hallway. As Wylan and Jesper watched, she took a few quick steps, slid down the hall on her stocking-clad feet, and crashed into the wall. Wylan winced, but Neely just giggled and picked herself up. She readied herself to run again and gave a little hop when she spotted Jesper and Wylan at the other end of the hallway.  
  
Neely waved. Then she gave herself a running start and slid over to them. Jesper scooped her up before she could crash into anything. Neely giggled and tapped her forehead against his shoulder.  
  
"And just what are you up to, young lady?" he asked, mock-serious.  
  
"Boom," she replied.  
  
"Runs in the family," Jesper commented.  
  
Another time, Wylan might have pointed out that he hadn't built a bomb in years, but as Neely didn't know that piece of his past, he kept that correction to himself. Instead he said, "Are you hurt?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"Are you sure? You fell pretty hard there."  
  
Neely just giggled.  
  
"Okay. We're going out for a bit-"  
  
"Can I come?"  
  
It should have been an innocent question. Recent events made it land sharply in Wylan's belly. There were too many things out there from which he felt a need to shield her. Her curiosity about the world only made that harder to do.  
  
"Not this time, sweetpea," Jesper said. Neely's lip jutted out; she never had taken well to being left behind. He tried to make it easier: "We're going to do really boring grown-up stuff."  
  
"You can do boring grown-up stuff here," she complained.  
  
"We can't."  
  
"Can so! You do all the time!"  
  
Jesper snickered. "She's not wrong," he told Wylan.  
  
"Not this time," Wylan said. "Hey, I wish we could stay with you, but we'll come back later and I'll draw you a picture to color, okay?" When she looked ready to whine again, he added, "We need you to be a little bit grown-up."  
  
Neely pouted, but she nodded. "'Kay," she said softly.  
  
"Before we go, can I help you with your stockings?"  
  
"Stockings are hard!"  
  
"I know," Wylan said, sympathetic.  
  
They were a good deal harder than she appreciated, actually. Neely's physical sensitivity meant clothing her in general was a challenge and they had all been spared many difficult mornings when Marya started knitting socks and stockings. She claimed they weren't difficult for such small feet and something about casting on toes… Wylan didn't know. He just knew they didn't have any seams and were made with materials Neely could wear without scratching sores on her legs. And he would forever be grateful to his mother for it.  
  
Jesper set Neely on the ground again and Wylan knelt to straighten her stockings. As he did, he commented, "That's a nice dress, by the way!"  
  
It was in fact a repurposed sweater that used to be Wylan's, years ago, after the Barrel. He had outgrown it. He weighed about nothing and a half when he came home and had worn sweaters through summer as a result. Now his cast-off was a too-big dress that his sister liked to run around in.  
  
She grinned proudly. "It's your Jesper colors!"  
  
Wylan looked up at Jesper, who shrugged.  
  
"What are Jesper colors?"  
  
Matter-of-factly, she said, "Red and green."  
  
"I see," Wylan said. He did not. "Why's that Jesper colors?"  
  
Still in her matter-of-fact way, Neely explained, "Because it's your best favorite. Like Jesper."  
  
Oh, he wasn't going to hear the end of that any time soon, was he? A glance at Jesper's face confirmed it.  
  
"Red and green are traditional colors for Sankt Nikolai's," Wylan explained. Now he understood, at least. He had been dressing both himself and Neely in increasing amounts of red and green, partly consciously, and partly as a subconscious awareness that it was simply what one did during the holiday season.  
  
Neely tilted her head. "Why are we wearing _his_ colors? He's not going to know."  
  
"That… is a very good question," Wylan said. He kissed her forehead, then stood up. "Let me think about it. Maybe I'll have an answer when we get back."  
  
She nodded, not happy, but not arguing. Wylan would take that as a win.  
  
He guessed Jesper agreed. When they were alone, preparing to leave the sturdy walls of the mansion and step out into the winter chill, Wylan wasn't surprised to hear it.  
  
"I don't like this," Jesper said, helping Wylan into his coat.

"You don't have to come with me."

"Don't be ridiculous." If the house had been chilly, the outside was frigid. Jesper gave his gloves a tug as he continued, "Your kindness is one of the things I've always admired about you, but sometimes—like now, for instance—you let it overwhelm your good sense."

"I agree," rasped a familiar voice.

Jesper and Wylan turned in twin surprise as Kaz fell into step beside them. He scowled back.

"Don't look so shocked. I put him in prison and I'll see to it Jan Van Eck stays there. I don't need you getting sentimental."

Kaz had learned to call Wylan 'sentimental' after calling him a moron. Jesper had punched him. Kaz didn't see it coming and came out of the experience with a fractured bone in his cheek. They all knew Kaz's feelings on sentiment. They knew it was just another name for foolishness, but that had been the moment Jesper chose Wylan over Kaz.

His mouth set in a stubborn line, Wylan said, "I don't hate my father, but I'm aware he belongs in prison."

"I hate him," Jesper said.

"I know."

"Kaz," Jesper prompted.

Kaz gave a non-committal grunt of an answer.

"He hurt Inej," Jesper reminded them both. He did not miss the flash in Kaz's dark eyes—yes, he hated Jan Van Eck, too. "I'll wager Inej hates him."

"You shouldn't be wagering anything. Thank you for being here, Kaz."

"This is business."

"Why don't I get thanked?"

"You'll get thanked properly later."

Jesper grinned. Kaz made a disgusted sound.

Wylan had not given his father an especially strong legal defense. He kept him out of Hellgate, though that wasn't difficult: the Merchant Council had been none too eager to see one of their own in that place. But Wylan had made clear to the lawyer that his father was guilty and would face the legal consequences of his actions.

For a moment, just a moment, it was like looking at a stranger. For that moment, Wylan's heart went out to the feeble old man before him. He looked so… old, so weak sitting on the cot with its thin mattress. There was little else in the cell: a few books, two buckets. The indignity of it, of not only using those buckets, but having no privacy to do so…. Wylan had spent only a few hours behind bars in Fjerda, but he had never forgotten the feeling.

Then Jan raised his head and drove most of the mercy out of Wylan with a disdainful curl of his lip. Jan unfurled himself from the cot. He strode to the bars, and for all his age, the wrinkles in skin and the gray, receding hair, he still moved like a young man. He moved the way he had when he was having an especially bad day. Wylan refused to flinch or back away, but his gaze flickered so quickly to the books.

Jan caught the slip. He smiled.

"You managed to decipher the letters, then."

Jesper didn't like reading them to Wylan. He did it, but he didn't like it. Occasionally he would unfold an imaginary letter and make up something: _Dear Wylan, I'm writing this letter to formally apologize for being a miserable bastard. It's very important to me that you know I'm a complete podge who licks rat bottoms._

Right now, Wylan was grateful to have Jesper with him. Kaz as well, even if it was business.

"How's my rightful heir?" asked Jan.

"Wylan's fine," Jesper said.

Jan shot him a filthy look.

"I am a feeble old man, locked behind bars, and still you are afraid to face me without your bodyguards," he told Wylan. "No more a man than you've ever been." Turning to Jesper, Jan said, "I see his name in the broadsides the guards bring me, I presume that's your doing."

"You think I'm a journalist?" Jesper asked.

Jan returned his attention sharply to Wylan: "Can you speak at all?"

Wylan laid a hand on Jesper's arm. He had the sense Jesper was ready to grab Jan by the front of his prison-issue tunic and slam him into the bars. Or… maybe that was Wylan.

"You asked me to come see you and I have," Wylan said. "What do you want?"

"I want you to know, Wylan. I want you to face what you've done to me, the position you've put me in. I gave you a comfortable life and _this_ is how you have repaid me. _This_ is where your father will live out his last days. Will you bring my daughter to see me? I am an old man, allow me that comfort. Any mistakes I may have made with you, do I not deserve a chance to do better for her?"

"No, you don't."

Jan sighed. He became the feeble old man again and said, "Forgive my bitterness. It's not easy being locked away in here. But she is my child. All I want is to know she's well."

"She's fine."

"Wylan, be sensible. You're foolish and weak. You are not qualified to teach her to run a business, you are not qualified to teach anyone."

The same insults, Wylan thought, the same obsession with his legacy. Now he understood. Jan had so much time alone in this place, what else would he do but think about the company?

"The business is fine," Wylan said, curt.

Jan sighed. "This is not personal, this is simply good sense."

"No," Wylan said again, "it's not. I don't know what you want with her, but you will never see my sister. You will never hold her. You will never speak her name. She is not your daughter." To Jesper, he said, "You were right, it was a mistake to come here. Let's go."

Jesper didn't need to hear more. They both turned to go.

"Cornelia Van Eck."

Wylan froze. Very slowly, he turned back to his father.

"What did you say?"

"Cornelia Van Eck."

However repulsively he wore disdain, he wore victory even worse.

"Wylan," Jesper said.

" _You_ may be stubborn, Wylan, but Alys was always such an accommodating girl. Yes, she came to see me before the divorce was final. It was, after all, my child she carried. You remember the story of your great-great-great-grandfather Cornelius, don't you? So, you see, she is my child, from my line. A line you rejected when you took your mother's name."

"Don't you ever come near her," Wylan hissed, striding back to his father.

Jan grinned horridly at him.

Then he reached through the bars and locked his hand around Wylan's wrist. He was surprisingly strong.

"Bad enough you took my fortune from me, will you squander it and take it from my heir as well?"

The crow's head landed with a _crack_ of bone. Jan gasped, his hand falling away from Wylan's.

"Walk out," Kaz said, "and don't look back."

Wylan hesitated. Was he leaving his father to die? He did not want that. He might not want anything to do with Jan and he certainly never intended him to see Neely, but that did not mean the man deserved to die.

"Wylan," Kaz said.

Wylan turned. Jesper was waiting for him. Wylan took Jesper's hand, fixed his gaze ahead, and walked out of the prison. Only seconds passed before he heard a clatter, then the tap of Kaz's cane as he strode after them.

Only when they were outside did Wylan let himself panic.

"He could be planning something, we have to go!"

"He's not planning anything," Jesper said.

"No, he is, you heard him, he reads the papers, he knows about her—"

"Wylan." Jesper grasped his shoulders, tight enough to hold him still, and took a deep breath. Wylan mimicked him. "Good. He was just trying to rile you. He's not planning anything and you cannot go home like this."

"But Sweetpea—"

"Is with Da. He won't let any harm come to her. Nor will the household guard and most of them are loyal first to you."

That was true and Wylan knew it was true and he didn't feel any better for it.

"Lager?" Kaz suggested.

"He doesn't drink."

Kaz shrugged. "Doesn't make his kruge less purple."

"Kaz—"

"I'll buy," Wylan said. "You're right, I can't go home this way." As they headed for a decent pub nearby, he asked, "What did you do?"

"Knocked his books into the piss bucket."

Jesper and Wylan all but fell over each other laughing. Even Kaz's mouth quirked up at the corner.

As they walked, they passed shops decorated with pine boughs for the holidays, windows showing displays of quince candies, children's toys, incongruous ties. Wylan couldn't help noticing a display of Shu fortune bottles—little glass bottles with a tiny scroll inside. A person had to break the glass to get the scroll. Sometimes, he wanted to buy one. He wanted to see how the unfamiliar Shu writing looked. There were easier ways to do that, but why not?

They were all the rage in Shu Han, apparently.

"I hope these are real," he said, "at those prices!"

"Sign says they're authentic," Jesper said.

Wylan appreciated him making that sound like an argument. He shook his head. The prices were still higher than they might have been a year or two ago, but would barely make a profit over the tariffs imposed by the Merchant Council.

"It's made up," Kaz said. "Did you hear about it before the past few years?"

"Erde Dryden introduced them," Wylan said.

"Hm," was all Kaz offered in reply.

They continued on to the pub.

Wylan, as promised, bought the drinks. He knew Kaz had his own reasons, but he was still proud to buy a drink for the man who broke his father's wrist and dropped his books in the piss bucket. A mean part of Wylan hoped it hadn't been empty.

Kaz took his drink with a nod.

Jesper gave a polite if mildly suggestive—this was Jesper, after all—"Thanks, babe."

Wylan nodded. He slipped into a seat and sipped his coffee. It was burnt-bitter.

Jesper took a deep drink and said, "I like my lager like I like my men."

"If you pour that in your lap, you're doing the laundry."

Jesper snorted into his drink.


	12. Colm

Colm Fahey loved his son. Most of the past twenty-two years, the most important thing a person could know about him was that he loved his son. That was why he knew something was bothering Jesper. It was also why he didn't ask details. He could see Jes was doing well… even if his life didn't look like anything Colm recognized, Jesper was working hard, completing his degree, engaged to a good man.

Colm was happy for Jesper.

That in no way lessened his sense that he was out of place here. With the boys on an errand—they kept casting significant looks at one another and saying vague things last night—Colm had settled in the sitting room with a cup of tea. He wouldn't have said no to something a little stronger.

How was it this happened every time he came to Ketterdam? This place was even finer than… what had that hotel been called, where the lad with the cold eyes sent him? Ah, the Geldrenner. That's right. Well, this place was finer.

Colm sipped his tea. Couldn't go wrong with a cup of tea. He had forgotten about the Kerch tradition of serving tea with cookies. Back in the Wandering Isle, Colm recalled men boasting that not a man alive took his tea blacker. Clearly that was not a concern for the Kerch.

A sound from nearby drew his attention. Colm looked up in time to see a tiny head ducking behind the settee. Neely. He hadn't truly interacted with the girl, but it was clear enough that Jesper adored her, not only from how he interacted with her but how he and Wylan referred to her as 'our sister'. If she was important to his son, she was important to Colm.

He split his attention, watching the settee and giving his tea a slow stir at the same time. He picked up one of his cookies and set it back down. Drank a little more.

This time when he looked, Neely was on the opposite side of the settee. She ducked back with a thump and a giggle.

Colm was onto her game now!

He set down his tea and cupped his hands in front of his face. Clearly she was too old for peek-a-boo games, that wasn't his aim. Instead, he waited until he heard her breathing catch, telling him she was looking at him now. Colm lowered his hands just enough to peek at Neely, then quickly ducked his eyes behind his fingers again.

Neely giggled.

He did this two more times. On the third try, he caught her holding her stuffed toy over her face, peering at him in the same 'sneaky' way. Colm's hands hid a huge grin.

Colm lowered his hands slowly, keeping his attention on the girl. She kept the toy partly obscuring her face, but she was watching him, too. He picked up one of the cookies on the saucer beside his tea. He wasn't overly fond of sweets, though Kerch cookies were… well, they were certainly something. Colm broke off a piece of one cookie and popped it in his mouth, then pushed the saucer closer to Neely. She shuffled closer to the coffee table and took the second cookie, lowering her toy to nibble the treat. She pretended to share it with her toy, holding the cookie to its stitched-on mouth.

"Does your puppy have a name?"

Neely looked at Colm for a moment like she was swallowing giggles before saying, shyly, "Dog."

"He's a dog, is he?"

She nodded. "Schapendoes."

"A scha… what's that again?"

"Schapendoes," she repeated. She held her dog with one arm. Her free hand moved, thumb brushing hard against her fingers one by one. "Are you a witch?"

"Me?" Colm asked. "No, I'm not a witch." He wasn't offended so much as surprised. Many questions he had been asked, but never that one! Who would think he was a witch, after all? Then again, this _was_ a child being raised by his son.

"My bigger brother said you made him."

"That'll be Jesper?"

She nodded. "I have two brothers."

Ah. So she had a big brother and a bigger brother. That made sense in its own way, Colm supposed.

"I'm Jesper's da."

"Jesper is my co-favorite brother."

"Well, that seems like a responsible choice."

He reached for the cup of tea, keeping aware of how Neely reacted to him leaning forward. He'd taken in a cat once that he knew came from a bad place before. Skittish thing. But Neely didn't flinch away when Colm leaned nearer to grasp the cup.

After setting down the cup again, Colm said, "Tell me more about those dogs."

Neely broke into a huge grin. She squealed and flapped her hand—the one not holding her dog—and said, "Schapendoes dogs are used on farms as herding dogs. They have been described as friendly, watchful, and lively. Dog is the best one. Schapendoes dogs are 16 to 20 inches tall, they weigh 26 to 50 pounds, and they live 12 to 15 years. They are exceptionally agile. Wylan says they have too much energy."

"Does he."

She nodded solemnly.

Colm was surprised by the specificity of her information, the specific heights and weights of the dogs.

"Do you know about other dogs?"

Neely nodded fiercely, hands flapping again. "I have a puppy, too! Not real… real, but… I have a puppy like Dog! Dog is a dog, but I have a puppy. Her name is Sobachka because it means 'puppy' in Ravkan because she came from Jesper's friend in Ravka when I was two. I'm two of that now."

"Two puppies?" Colm asked. Sobachka was another stuffed animal, then, and he guessed it had come from Leoni. Befriending her had done Jesper a world of good. That, among other decisions Jesper made during that time.

"No, two twos!" Neely said, laughing like it was both funny and obvious.

He supposed it was, in its own way.

"I saw a dog the other day, about so big, yellow coat—"

"A smoushond?!" she gasped.

"What do you know about a smoushond?"

Half an hour later, when Jesper and Wylan returned from their errand, they both froze and stared.

Colm couldn't recall all he'd learned about dogs in that time. As it happened, Neely didn't know only about Kerch dogs, but dogs from both sides of the True Sea, and did he know Fjerdan soldiers had special dogs, and and and… her knowledge of the animals was not easily exhausted! But eventually she had changed the subject herself, asking Colm to read to her. Of course he agreed.

So the boys came home to find their sister sitting on Colm's lap, leaning against his chest and cuddling her stuffed dog as he read her a story about a clever mouse and his efforts to steal different foods from incautious humans.

"Neely," Wylan said as Jesper sprawled on the settee.

"Hello," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Did your errand go well?" Colm asked.

"Um…"

"We had a cracking good time," Jesper volunteered.

Wylan pressed his hand to his mouth. Whatever the joke, Colm wasn't certain he wanted—or needed!—to know it.

Colm felt the question bouncing between Jesper and Wylan, but they didn't ask until they had a bit of privacy. Neely's attention wore thin and she slid to the ground. Before she could leave the room, though, Wylan motioned her over and knelt.  
  
"Hey, you know I love you, right?" he asked.   
  
She nodded.  
  
"Good."   
  
Wylan pulled his sister close and hugged her. It could have been sweet, but there was more to it, something unsettled in Wylan. Colm looked to Jesper, who shook his head. Don't ask. 

"I love you so much."  
  
"Love you, too." A moment longer, and she started to squirm.   
  
"Okay. Okay, go on."   
  
Wylan went to sit beside Jesper.   
  
"We went to see Jan," Wylan said.   
  
Colm nodded, understanding now. He didn't know everything Jan had done. He knew enough. Four years ago, shortly after his last visit to Ketterdam, he received a letter from Jesper with an offhand comment asking Colm to be Wylan's da, too. It wasn't a year later that Jesper brought his boyfriend to visit Novyi Zem. Colm didn't ask questions, but he didn't need to, especially. So if they had been to see Jan, that explained the thinly veiled fragility in Wylan and the protective way Jesper held him. It was a young man's folly, affecting strength one decidedly lacked and denying a comfort one clearly needed, but then Wylan was very young yet.   
  
Jesper cleared his throat and changed the subject: "How did you win her over so quick?"   
  
Colm shook his head. "Raised you, didn't I?" he asked. "I know how to manage a child."

"But Neely is… different," Wylan explained.

Colm acknowledged, "Whatever else she may be, she's still just a little girl. Why doesn't she know what parents are? She must have friends?"

Wylan and Jesper looked at each other. Then, almost like a child admitted he'd taken a cookie when he wasn't allowed to, Jesper said, "Not her own age, no. She doesn’t—she doesn’t do well with people her own age. She doesn’t play as they do. The gossip is bad in Ketterdam, Da, we don't…"

It was Wylan who said it, though: "We don't want people laughing at her. Anyway, maybe it's for the best. If she had friends her own age, she'd want to know why they have a mama and papa, but she has two brothers."

“She does want to know,” Colm said. “She asked me.”

“Sorry,” Jesper said.

“You don’t need to apologize for a child being a child, but you need to tell her. It’s natural for a person to wonder where they came from. If you don’t tell her, she’ll make her own answers.”


	13. Wylan

Among Ketterdam merchant houses, Van Eck stood out in many ways. Wylan knew that. He could not help feeling that many were on display here as the very young head of the merchant house and empire returned to his bed, shook awake a Zemeni farmer’s son he was marrying for love, showed him a note that had been pinned with a knife to their sister’s bedroom door, and said, “This is from Inej, isn’t it?”

Jesper muttered sleepily.

“Jesper, please, I need you to read this,” Wylan insisted, his voice high and thin. He was nearly certain it was from Inej, he needed to be absolutely certain.

Jesper propped himself up on one elbow and took the note.

“Dear Jesper and Wylan,” he read. “I have kidnapped your sister. I’m feeding her coffee and sweets and will return her when I get bored. Love, Inej.”

He put the note aside and pulled Wylan under the covers.

“Inej lived with me and Kaz. She’ll bring home an absolute monster but it’ll take a while.”

Wylan squirmed. “I have things to do.”

“No, you don’t,” Jesper murmured, bundling Wylan closer against him and nuzzling his neck.

Wylan wasn’t in the mood, but it was difficult not to relax with Jesper wrapped around him that way. At least, his body relaxed. His mind… despite the holidays, Wylan’s mind was filled with troubling thoughts—the Council’s votes against education for all, Kerch’s tensions with the Shu Han, his father, his sister, and the body at the harbor. He had spoken to no one but Jesper of the body, only hoped Kaz would find that poor lad justice.

“Wylan,” Jesper said.

Wylan brought Jesper’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles.

“I’m sorry, my blessing, I can’t.”

“What can I do?”

Nothing. That was the problem—Jesper couldn’t help. Wylan loved him, but right now, he just needed to hurt. He hated that his pain hurt Jesper, too.

When Wylan didn’t answer, Jesper tried again: “What do you want?”

“Tea.”

He didn’t. It was just the first thing he could think to ask for.

“Bastard,” Jesper muttered.

“Mmm, the dream of not having a father,” Wylan retorted, but his mind was determinedly gloomy today.

That was exactly why Alys stayed married to Jan as long as she did rather than immediately divorcing after he was arrested. She stayed so Neely would have a father, not realizing what a swine of a man she tied her child to. Not that Alys had been much of a mother, either, but a woman of her class was not expected to be, only to bear the child and turn it over to a competent nanny.

In fairness to Alys, Wylan allowed—she had done that.

“Is that it?” Jesper asked softly. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Wylan nodded, feeling his face heat up. He was an adult, a Councilman, one of the wealthiest men in Ketterdam—but he still had nightmares that made him want to cower.

  
“She was there and I was a kid again, I was trying to teach her how to be good so he wouldn’t… but she wouldn’t listen to me, and…”

“And that’s why you went to her room,” Jesper concluded.

“I know she’s fine. She’s _safe_ with Inej… safer than she would be with me.”

It wasn’t Neely’s absence that had upset him. Wylan absolutely trusted Inej with his sister. _That_ had hurt—the realization that he actually felt better about Neely being with someone else. He had been maybe fourteen or fifteen in the dream, before he met the Dregs, and though Wylan was much stronger in so many ways now, he experienced the dream—the fear—as his childhood self.

“That’s not true, babe.”

Wylan rolled over and nuzzled into Jesper’s shoulder. The idea of facing any part of the world right now was just immensely unappealing—and with Inej watching Neely and the Council out of session for the holidays, he didn’t have to.

“He was hurting her like he used to hurt me. It’s like old bruises. It just—I feel like a kid again.” To Wylan, feeling like a kid meant feeling useless and vulnerable. He hated it. He hated that he was still vulnerable to his father, to his own memories.

Jesper rubbed little circles on Wylan’s back.

“It’s all just…”

“It’s okay,” Jesper said.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to be strong for me.”

That had always been the deal, but it was one thing when Wylan was a sixteen-year-old kid terrified each meeting with a Councilman would be the one where they realized he was a moron. He was a man now. He had learned to be a man of business, of politics. It was being the man who looked after his family that posed a challenge. How could he do that when he was still a kid scared of his papa?

Jesper shifted away from Wylan and began unbuttoning Wylan's shirt.

“What—”

“Shh. Let me take care of you.”

Wylan wasn’t feeling amorous, but he didn’t want to argue, either. A few minutes later, he was glad he hadn’t. Jesper’s move wasn’t amorous; he cast aside Wylan’s shirt, then cuddled him close. Wylan didn’t understand why being touched, skin against skin, had the effect it did, and he was grateful to Jesper for knowing and never taking advantage, because Wylan soothed. His breathing steadied and deepened, and his eyes drifted to half-mast.

“It’s okay,” Jesper said. “It’s okay. Everyone’s safe. You’re safe. Inej won't let anything happen to Neely. Everyone's okay. Except your father, he's cold and miserable.”

Wylan didn’t know if he wanted to sleep or cry. After a moment, he said, “I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

Jesper brushed his thumb along the thin gold chain at the nape of Wylan's neck, the one bit of jewelry he rarely took off. It had been a gift and it was a reminder now of all they had been through together, that they still had one another. That they always did, always would.

They stayed there for a while, Wylan wasn’t sure how long, but it was long enough for the dream to fade and be replaced by a wonderful reality. Wylan was ready for the day when Jesper asked, “Can you face getting up?”

“Dunno,” Wylan muttered, “that means I won’t be next to you.”

“It does, but it also means lunch.”

“All right.”

Jesper left the bed first.

“Jes, thank you for being so sweet to me.”

"No need to stop there."

Wylan smiled. Perhaps the best part about his fiance's shamelessness in asking for compliments was how many there were to choose from!

"You're also brilliant, loving, loyal…"

“You forgot how handsome I am.”

“I guarantee I did not.”

Wylan had been dressed for the day, but Jesper still wore the shorts he’d slept in and nothing else—a view Wylan very much appreciated. Generally under the obvious attention Jesper would preen. The day was too chilly for that. They both hurriedly dressed, Wylan pulling on the shirt Jesper had removed earlier and a thick sweater over it.

He didn’t know what anyone else was up to, even if Inej and Neely were home, at least until they reached the sitting room. Marya and Colm were there playing cards over cups of tea. Marya caught Wylan’s eye through the doorway and indicated something in the corner.

Wylan stepped into the room.

He chuckled. “They’re home,” he reported to Jesper.

One corner of the sitting room had been transformed, sheets hanging between bookcases and the backs of chairs. Clearly the older of the two conspirators had played a major architectural role. Neely’s blanket forts were usually just a blanket or sheet thrown over the table, and often had visible gaps. This one actually afforded the girls some privacy. It didn’t stifle their giggling, though.

“Good morning, Mama.” He kissed her cheek.

“Good morning, Wylan.”

He couldn’t help scanning her cards.

“Fold,” he muttered, glancing at Colm.

Marya gave her son a playful swat on the shoulder. Wylan wished she wouldn’t, but he had worked so hard to keep from her the details of her husband’s mistreatment, he forced himself to laugh and dodge like it was truly a game. She didn’t mean anything by it.

Jesper had headed for the fort, but he looked back at Wylan, asking him, silently, if he was all right. Wylan gave an almost imperceptible nod. He was fine.

Neely’s head popped out between the sheets.

“You can’t come in unless you say the password,” she said, followed by something in Zemeni that Wylan couldn’t make out—but it made Colm choke on his tea.

“The password,” Wylan said.

Neely’s head disappeared back into the fort. The door peeled open behind her. He crawled into the fort, asking, “Can Jesper come, too? He’s my plus-one.”

“Yes.”

Wylan never built forts as a child, and was only used to Neely’s unsophisticated efforts. With Inej’s help, the fort was downright welcoming. There were blankets on the ground and pillows around the edges, and a… very strange collection of items in the middle. An inkwell, its wax seal unbroken. Blank sheet music. An inexplicable skein of multi-colored yarn. There were sweets—Wylan would have expected pepernoten, seasonal spice cookies, or hagelslag, the chocolate-sprinkled bread Neely loved. Instead there were gevulde koeken—Wylan’s favorite almond paste cookies. There was lunch, too—okay, he was sensing a theme.

Neely hugged Wylan and tapped her forehead against his cheek in her version of a kiss.

“What…” Wylan began, absently wrapping an arm around his sister.

Softly, Inej said, “Neely told me you’ve been sad. She wanted to cheer you up.”

“Oh, sweetpea. Thank you. Thank you, Inej. But it's almost the Feast of Sankt Nikolai, you didn’t have to do any of this.”

“That’s us,” Jesper said, “we only ever do what we have to.” He wasted no time in helping himself to a cookie. “You’re right that it’s terribly improper. You shouldn’t have any cookies. I’ll save you from all of this impropriety.”

“That'd be a first. And don’t you dare, just because I like my lunch before dessert,” Wylan said, affecting his ‘I am a very prim and proper merch’ attitude as he piled cheese and ham on a slice of bread. Even _that_ was a concession to his preferences. He hadn’t been certain Neely knew what Wylan’s favorite sort of bread was. Maybe Inej had made this decision.

Wylan tried to privately work through the emotions all of this stirred. Jesper spent that morning cuddling away his fears, while Inej and Neely arranged this. He noted that although Jesper was not picky regarding food, there was a box of those toffees he liked.

“You’re all… you’re really wonderful,” Wylan said. He still had one arm around Neely, so he set his lunch on his knee to wipe his eyes on his wrist. Sometimes, it was almost too much to be surrounded by so many people who loved him.

Inej swiped his lunch.

"Oh, thanks!" Wylan told her.

"Welcome."

Not that there was any shortage of food here, and he helped himself to another piece much more carefully.

"So you set this up and just waited for us?" Jesper asked.

Inej nodded.

"You were asleep for forever! The Captain said you were very, very tired from so much dancing."

Jesper raised his eyebrows at Inej. Wylan, his mouth full, rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to blush.

"Hey, the ink and the paper I understand," Jesper said, brushing crumbs off his hands, "but what's this?" He picked up the yarn.

"Yarn."

"Yes, thank you, Neely, that's very helpful. Why is there yarn here?"

"For you," Neely said. "For your pockets."

"For my… my pockets," Jesper said.

Wylan coughed and forced himself to swallow. He hadn't realized she knew about Jesper's habit of slipping colorful things into his pockets. When he got restless, he could use his zowa abilities to rip the color. It helped when he really needed something to take the edge off.

"Hey, c'mere, sweetpea."

Neely looked warily at Jesper. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to hug you a lot."

"Why?"

"Because I love you."

"Why?"

"Enough, kit," Jesper said. He picked her up; there wasn't enough room in their fort for much negotiating, but he managed to sweep her into his lap for a cuddle. Neely giggled and snuggled against him. "I love you so, so, so much. You're my favorite little sister."

Wylan found himself keenly aware of the lack of biological kinship between Neely and Jesper. They didn't share a parent, or parents. But while all but one of Neely's biological family had rejected her, Jesper loved her. He was just… perfect. Not for the first time, Wylan found himself imagining Jesper as a father. He'd be a really good father.

He waited until Neely had grown impatient and crawled out of the fort, then leaned in to kiss Jesper's cheek.

"I love you." To Inej, he added, "And I love you, too. Thank you."

Inej shook her head. "It was her idea. I just supervised."

With just the three of them, they shifted to lean their backs against the wall. They had just enough space if they squeezed in close. Jesper, on the far left, tossed his right arm over both Wylan and Inej.

"We'll pay you back for this," Wylan promised.

"Don't mind him," Jesper said, "merch manners. He can't help himself."

"I didn't mind," Inej assured them both.

Wylan couldn't help running the math in his head. This wasn't even 100 kruge, and Inej, while not a profiteering sort, was not strapped for cash. He still didn't like her funding his sister's schemes, but supposed if she insisted, this one was fairly harmless.

"Besides," Inej continued, "it's nice to have some time with her when I'm not competing with you two. We saw several dogs." They all smiled at that, familiar with Neely's dog breed recitations. Memorizing and recalling dog facts made her so happy. None of them had _disliked_ dogs before, but they had all come to associate the animals with a gleeful energy that could rival Jesper's.

Wylan wanted to ask if Neely had been okay. Being out among a crowd could overwhelm her and there _were_ crowds this close to the Feast of Sankt Nikolai. He didn't want her overhearing the question, so he put it to the back of his mind. It was all too easy to fall into the trap of believing they were somehow alone, hidden from the others' view—except Jesper's feet, which were sticking out of the fort now that he had stretched his legs. But it was only sheets and blankets; in the quiet, they even heard Colm and Marya shuffling cards and dealing another game.

They stayed in the fort until Colm said, voice pointedly calm and raised just slightly to catch their attention, "Boys, could one of you come out here, please?"

Jesper and Wylan responded immediately, bumping into one another, then Wylan fell back.

When they emerged from the fort, Colm directed their attention to Neely. She was poking a needle at her fingertip. Marya must have dropped it some time and forgotten, or not been able to find it. Now it was in Neely's hand, her eyes determinedly focused.

“Neely, stop,” Wylan said.

She didn’t even look at him. Times like this, he wished keenly that she had the ability to articulate what was happening in her head. She didn’t have to do it now, but if, later, she could explain where she went when she fell into repeated behaviors, they would be better able to help her through it. He didn’t blame her. He only wished the circumstances were different.

“I’ve got it.” Jesper crouched next to her. Gently, he told her, “Neely. Hey, sweetpea. Can you make your hands still for me? Neely.”

She hadn’t stopped, so he reached for the needle. With a sound that was neither a word nor a cry, she tugged away from him, continuing to poke the needle at her fingers.

Wylan knew what was coming. He wished it weren’t. He wished Colm weren’t about to see this. He wished he understood any of it, what drove his sister into these dark wells and why it was so difficult for her to come back.

Jesper took the needle out of Neely’s fingers.

She shrieked.

“It’s okay,” Jesper murmured.

Keening, Neely hit the heel of her palm against her forehead.

“Jes,” Wylan said, tossing him the blanket from the couch. Jesper caught it, shook it out, and wrapped it around their sister. He continued with soothing nonsense as he held her tightly enough to stop her hurting herself.

Wylan looked at his hands. He wasn’t embarrassed, he told himself, and he didn’t believe it. He _knew_ Neely couldn’t help how she was, he knew she was doing so much better, and he couldn’t even defend her because he didn’t want her to hear him talking about her like someone who needed defending. He knew to an outsider, Neely could look like a spoiled child having a tantrum, but he had seen spoiled children having tantrums. They stopped when they hurt. Something inside Neely would keep her going through blood and bruises if they allowed it.

He wished he could help, but they knew that with Neely held like that, anyone else coming too close—even one of her brothers—would only upset her.

Today was especially bad. Jesper held Neely in an otherwise silent room until she wore herself down so much she fell asleep in his arms. Wylan offered to take her, but Jesper shook his head. He carried her to the sofa and settled. Wylan assumed Neely liked to be alone after she had an incident like that; if she was awake, she was rarely responsive to them. As much as she liked being alone, they liked to keep her close, like she was a fractured egg they still believed might hatch.

One of her braids had come loose. Wylan picked up the ribbon, then sat beside Jesper and began unweaving Neely's other braid. She hated being lopsided.

This was his true fear when she went to school. He didn't care if her friends were all Merchant class, in fact he preferred that they be otherwise. If she had one of her fits, if people _saw_ , they would use it against her. They would use her against him, and he didn't want her in that arena. Maybe one day, if she learned to control it, but not now.

"She can't help it," Wylan said.

"I can see that," Colm said.

Wylan was relieved to hear it but still felt he needed to explain his sister. He just didn't know how. This was just a part of Neely. Now, asleep in Jesper's arms, she looked innocent and soft. Wylan knew that was part of her, he knew she was smart and thoughtful, and she tried hard even when she completely misunderstood a situation. This was a part of her, too. She fell, or got stuck, or just furious—he didn't know. She didn't talk about it.

"Does that happen often?"

"Less now than it used to," Jesper said. "It was overdue. It was, Wy. You know she doesn't like disruptions. But she'll be all right."

After a moment, Colm said, "I believe I understand now. What you said about the students you would want to teach, I understand. It's a noble thing."


	14. Inej

Inej woke to the glow of bonelight, aware of it behind her eyes even before she opened them, gripped a knife in her hand. She was ready.

"Wraith."

Her grip loosened. She didn't drop the knife. She held it comfortably as she left the bed and grabbed her tunic.

Inej had asked for changes before she was willing to be more than a friend to Kaz, more than a right hand, more than… more. The requests had been met, back when they were teenagers, and he held true. He was his same self that she had fallen in love with. She was her same self who had fallen.

She understood Kaz.

She understood what it meant when he came for his Wraith.

They left Wylan's house in the quiet dark. It wasn't yet midnight—ten bells, she guessed. Maybe ten and half chime. She didn't ask what Kaz needed. She trusted him. She trusted him not to take advantage of what stood between them by drawing her into the sort of trouble she no longer participated in.

Rather than the Barrel, they headed farther east, for the Warehouse District.

"Kaz," Inej said, once they had turned down a side street, away from the canals that would carry their voices. She kept hers low anyway.

"You notice the Shu fortune scrolls?" Kaz asked.

Inej waved away the matter: "Souvenirs."

The Kerch had a complex relationship with the Shu, simultaneously politically clashing with them and socially fascinated. It was why the upper classes would buy those fancy fortune bottles to smash while supporting the tariffs as 'for the good of Kerch'. The Shu government was painted as abusive and corrupt; Shu Han itself, exotic. Inej found it especially distasteful.

Kaz didn't answer, watching guards, timing the guards. He didn't need to tell Inej when to move. She followed him through the shadows, approaching a warehouse, and together they scaled the walls. Inej had always moved quicker than Kaz, especially vertically, but she noted how few feet they were above the head of the next guard. Slow? But she hadn't been slow. The warehouse must be especially well-guarded.

Inej knew then that something was deeply amiss. She knew in her head, she felt it in her gut.

They climbed the back wall, covered the roof, and scaled down a wall that backed up on the canal. She noted a gondel positioned at either end of the building. What was going on here?

Kaz picked the lock on a loading bay door. They slipped inside and moved silently, slowly through the dark. He had been here before and placed her hand on his shoulder— _follow me_. She would. She did. She did until he picked another lock, led her down a ladder, then shook a bonelight. Somehow they had gone from the warehouse floor to… a shaft into a tunnel? This must be an emergency escape, she realized, and given what she had seen outside, she had no doubt the main entrance to the… underground storage?… would be guarded as well.

It wasn't common, though. Ketterdam buildings very, very rarely had basements. A wealthy family might have a cellar—Wylan and Jesper had one. Jesper claimed it was full of wine and sausage, _like you last night, merchling,_ which had reduced Wylan to a blushing, stammering mess. Something underground in a warehouse, though, that was unprecedented. It made Inej nervous.

She began hearing the noises even before she reached the ground. It wasn't loud, just the steady hum of people who were not sneaking, breath, shifting around. A glow slipped out under a nearby door, just a hint of glow.

Kaz picked the lock carefully, standing aside to avoid casting even the hint of a shadow. As he did, Inej listened to the soft sounds from inside the room, faint breathing, a cough. A smack, a cry, and a louder smack. No cry this time. Not a storage room, then, but a prison. A secret, underground prison…

Inej set her jaw. She was ready now. Even without details, she was ready to kill.

Kaz straightened and gave her a nod. She nodded in reply: yes, she was ready. He hefted his cane. She drew her knives.

"Kill them before you ask questions, Wraith," Kaz said softly, so softly.

Then he swung the door open.

Inej needed a moment for her eyes to adjust, a moment to take in the long room. At its center was a long table. A group of children sat around it, all of them Shu, at work on various projects—some sewing, some writing with brushes and ink. Inej took half a moment to register them before turning her attention to the guards stationed around the room: two at the door while a third stood by looking menacing.

All three guards turned to the door as it opened. One of the children said something—Inej did not understand Shu and didn't know what the child was asking, but the guard's response came in the universal language of violence.

Inej slashed one guard's throat, noting the hot splatter of blood and knowing he was done for. Trusting Kaz to dispatch the second guard, she threw a knife at the third, but she took cares to avoid the children. She trusted her skill. Still, she did not want to take the risk them, and her blow was not a killing strike as a result.

The injured man pulled a pistol, but Kaz was there, the crow's head of his cane connecting with the man's skull. The one Inej had hurled her knife into, he was on the floor now, trying and failing to grasp the knife sticking out of his chest. She gave him the mercy of a quick death.

Inej frowned down at the now-corpses. She would pray for their souls, though it might take time for her to mean it.

She turned and scanned the room. The guards were all very or nearly dead, and she took the time to survey the room properly. The Shu children were mostly staring. A few still had their eyes on the work ahead of them. They worked on a few projects, but most notably, they worked on fortune scrolls. Was that where they came from? She feared it was. The fortune scrolls popped up a few years ago. Had this been going on for years? It was Kerch… probably years at least.

The thin mattresses leaned against the walls suggested the children lived here in this room. They were filthy, their skin sallow and hair matted, and none looked older than _maybe_ sixteen. The past years had hardened Inej's stomach; she was not the fourteen-year-old girl taken from the shores of Ravka, not even the sixteen-year-old who helped break into and out of the Ice Court. The years had hardened Inej's stomach, but not her heart. She could endure this sight only for knowing they were putting a stop to it.

"We need to go," Kaz rasped.

"Kaz—"

Before she could finish her objection, he jerked his head toward the children. Inej understood: this wasn't his specialty. Then he crouched by one of the children and Inej realized they weren't just sitting quietly. They were chained. She couldn't pick locks as quickly as he could, but she could help. She did.

"Come with us," she told them, once the last locks were undone. Smiling encouragingly, she said, "It's okay. We're here to help. Follow that man."

Many of the children blinked in confusion and murmured to one another in Shu, but when Kaz motioned for them to come after him, some began to follow. Inej waved her arms, encouraging the others. She waited until last, helping an exhausted child… a little boy? She wasn't certain, the child was so young and so unkempt. Inej put a hand on the child's shoulder. She knew what it was to be frightened of a stranger's touch, but she didn't know how long they had and the child was stumbling.

Minutes ticked away as the children climbed up the ladder. Inej felt those minutes heavily. How long until the next round of guards were due? How long until someone checked in? The children climbed too slowly, stepped too loudly. Though the older ones shushed the younger ones, some comments were made, questions asked. She wondered what Kaz had planned. Were they all going to the Slat? There was space enough, technically, she supposed, but were there any Shu speakers? Inej had only picked up a few words of Shu through her pirating activities, certainly not enough to hold a conversation or explain anything to these children.

One of the children began to cry.

"Shut up," Kaz hissed.

Same old Kaz. The children wouldn't understand the words, but the tone was enough. Their noise diminished. They weren't silent, but they did their best.

Inej put the last child on the ladder. The child froze.

"Go," Inej said softly.

The child whimpered… then went limp. She caught them before they hit the floor.

"Kaz. Kaz!"

"Get up here!"

"I need rope!"

The response was a dull thump. Inej found the rope in the glow of the bonelight. She tied the last Shu child to herself and, still working to keep their weight balanced, scrambled up the ladder herself.

"Gondels," Kaz said as Inej's feet hit the floor.

She nodded and set the child, gently, on the ground. Another child came forward to check on them, silent.

Inej and Kaz slipped out to the canal. She went left and he went right, each approaching the gondel stationed at the edge of the building. Inej understood now. They were just more guards—who hadn't been smart enough to look up. She looked back to time her approach to Kaz's, and her knives flashed in time with his cane. They eased the bodies into the canal.


	15. Wylan

Politics was a strange game.

Wylan resented Dryden leading him to believe he would support the education initiatives in trade for Wylan's support on his ridiculous support for the Shu tariffs. And then who went and voted against the education initiative? Karl-sodding-Dryden.

Yet here was Wylan at Dryden's holiday party, smiling, drinking, making small talk…

"You're doing great, gorgeous," Jesper murmured.

Wylan laughed softly. "Remember when we thought you would be the one struggling with social expectations?"

It had been ridiculous, of course. Wylan had what the Kerch upper classes cared about: bloodlines and the right look. But the Kerch upper classes were still mostly at least half-human, and not immune to Jesper's charms. Most everyone who met him loved him, and anyone who didn't, well, he didn't care. Wylan cared. Wylan cared too much about too many things.

"Know what we should do when we get home?"

"What?"

Jesper replied with a look that flooded Wylan's face with a hot blush. He didn't need to use words.

Wylan winced.

"That flautist hit another wrong note," he said, knowing he was grumping just to grump. He knew he was being bitter. But… but… _sodding_ Dryden! Sodding _podge_ and Wylan had smiled and shaken his hand…

"That is not the flute I want you thinking about."

"I can handle two flutes."

"I beg your pardon, darling?"

But Wylan had heard the words even as he said them and he was already blushing.

Laughing, Jesper said, "And me thinking I already knew all of your talents! Tell me more about these flute-handling skills."

Wylan whined softly, half because he was losing so badly it hurt, half because he knew perfectly well it was what Jesper wanted to hear. Not that they were going to sneak off to a quiet room somewhere in the Dryden mansion and—

"Excuse me, Mister Van Eck, Mister Fahey."

The glorious haze of distraction faded from Wylan's mind as he turned to see a footman in Dryden's house colors.

"You're needed in the foyer. Mister Dryden says it's urgent."

Wylan had an opinion regarding what Mister Dryden could do with his urgency, but the footman didn't deserve Wylan's anger. So he simply nodded.

Leaning close, Jesper muttered, "Oh no, are we leaving early?"

"Jes."

"I'd hate to miss all this fun."

Wylan couldn't stop from laughing, but he disguised it as a cough, commenting emptily about the damp and his lungs.

In the foyer, his mood shifted, immediately serious when he saw who waited with the Drydens.

"Mama!" Wylan went to her, taking her hands in his. What was she doing here? Officially, she had been invited, but claimed she was far too old for these things. Wylan, who spoke fluent Mercher, understood she didn't have to and didn't want to go.

So… why was she here? She looked okay, tired, but it was awfully late…

"Your sister's taken ill," Marya said. "She's asking for you. I'm sorry to take you away from the festivities, but she's inconsolable. Please come home."

"Of course."

She was laying it on a bit thickly, but Wylan didn't mind. He was happy enough to leave the party. If Neely was asking for him, he was hardly going to stay, and appreciated his mother preempting the apologies he might need to make. Asking for him was good. He assumed she'd had another fit, two in one day, she'd be… he didn't know, that had never happened before… but if she was using words, that was good.

To the Drydens, Wylan said, "I'm so sorry to be leaving your party early."

"It's been delightful," Jesper added, sounding genuine. He always sounded genuine, of course.

Karl Dryden shook Wylan's hand. He held on a moment too long, leaving an awkward gap before he said, "I didn't want things to turn out the way they did. I like you, Wylan, but I serve Ghezen first."

Wylan only nodded. He didn't honor Ghezen. He went to church and tithed and paid his taxes, but he didn't honor the god of his father. He certainly didn't place himself above Ghezen! But he didn't respect religion being used as an excuse for cruel behavior.

"Take care of your sister," Dryden said.

"I will."

Wylan and Jesper put on their coats; it wasn't a long trip, but it would be a cold one. Ketterdam was frigid tonight. As they stepped outside, it found the gaps at their wrists and necks, nipped at exposed skin on their faces. Two members of Wylan's household guard waited. He nodded in greeting.

"Anke, Janna."

"Mister Van Eck," they chorused.

"How's your brother, Janna?"

"Much better, thank you."

It wasn't every merchant who would hire women into his household guard, treat them with respect, pay them the same as the men, and never leer at them, and as a result Wylan's household was increasingly guarded by women. He hadn't thought much about how horrible the Merchant Council's reputations were until he realized how many women appreciated his gaze staying on their faces.

He turned to Marya.

"She's fine," Marya said, "your friend stopped by."

"My friend?"

Jesper got there first: "Our _very old friend._ "

"Oh."

None of them said more. They just hurried home. Whatever Kaz Brekker wanted, it wasn't a nice cup of tea.

The lights were on at the Van Eck mansion. When they walked in the front door, Wylan and Jesper weren't surprised to see Kaz waiting.

"You got them," he remarked to Marya.

"Of course."

"What's going on?" Jesper asked.

Kaz motioned toward the sitting room. Jesper and Wylan approached warily, one never knew what to expect from Kaz Brekker. Whatever they might have thought to expect, it wasn't nearly a dozen Shu children, scattered around the room. Some sat alone, some in small groups. Some hugged stuffed animals. Some colored. There were plates and cups, some set aside, some held close, but none with more than crumbs. Wylan recognized the toys they played with. They were all filthy and hungry-eyed, some looking tough as nails, others obviously afraid. All had close-cropped dark hair and wore clothes barely better than rags.

One of the children, a girl who looked to be about twelve, gave Wylan a hard look and asked something in Shu. He felt cold rushing through him. He felt like the bottom of his stomach had dropped out.

"I… I don't…" Wylan stammered. _I don't speak Shu._

Inej was at the table, coloring with the children. She stood.

"They've been saying that often," she told them. "Kebben. We think it means siblings."

"I wish you'd said, Mama," Wylan said. His voice sounded faint, like he was hearing himself from the bottom of a canal. It matched the cold, clammy way he felt. "We might have asked Erde Dryden's help, she speaks Shu."

"That would be unwise," Kaz said.

Jesper realized what Kaz meant: "And that's why you brought them here."

The safest place to protect people from a member of the Merchant Council was the home of another member of the Merchant Council. If there was one thing Karl Dryden wouldn't risk, it was endangering his reputation by leveling a challenge against an older, wealthier merchant family. Wylan was young but a more capable businessman than Dryden.

"Not only that. We need access to the Drydens."

"Neither of us speaks fluent Shu," Inej said, "but we know enough. We think they've been keeping the children docile by holding their siblings in another location."

Wylan wasn't sure if the floor was pitching or his head was spinning. The situation wasn't too big. It was just wrong. He had a group of clearly abused and neglected children who needed a place to stay, and he would happily open his home to them, and that is how he would want them treated: given food, toys, whatever they needed. He could do this part. But a dozen kids so far from home in a country where they did not speak the language… someone had done this. Someone had _done this_ . Some he _knew_ had…

"Wylan?"

Jesper reached for his hand and Wylan held onto him.

Part of Wylan knew he would be stronger without Jesper. Jesper liked Wylan's innocence. He liked Wylan's vulnerability to the bad in the world. He liked to be strong, to be the protector, he liked Wylan to turn to him when he needed someone. It was how they survived when the world hurt too much: by needing each other and having each other. Right now, Wylan let himself shiver against all this new knowledge.

Karl Dryden.

Karl Dryden was responsible for the dead child at the Harbor.

Karl Dryden was responsible for the frightened, half-starved children in the sitting room.

They had been at his house. They had been celebrating the holidays with him and his family, he had shaken Wylan's hand… and those children…

Wylan didn't know if he would be furious with Dryden or himself once this wore off, but right now, he was simply shaking through the pain of what must have happened to those children.

"These kids…" Wylan managed.

"I know," Jesper said. "We'll see they land well. It won't be enough, but we will." Of course he was already resolved to help them.

Wylan nodded. "Tomorrow we'll find a translator," he promised. "And clothes, I know it's the holidays but…"

But he wasn't letting kids in his house go around in rags, and purple was the key to opening most doors in Ketterdam.

For tonight, they had more work to do.

Wylan swallowed. "How long until this group is reported missing?"

"We took them just past the guards' shift change," Kaz said.

 _Guards_ . How disgustingly lucrative they must be to pay for _guards_.

Wylan nodded. Okay. Just past the shift change, that would mean they had some time.

"That party was barely starting to wind down when we left, we'll need to wait an hour or two," Jesper said. "Then we'll pay a visit to the Drydens."

"I need to check in on Neely, she'll be confused by all of this."

"We don't have time—" Kaz began.

"We do," Wylan interrupted. "We have time enough to make a plan."

"Van Eck—"

"I'm not asking your permission, Brekker." Not in his own home. Not about this.

Wylan didn't waste his time staring down Kaz Brekker. He turned and started for the bedrooms. He didn't expect someone like Kaz to understand even the concept of _nurturing_ , not a man who would probably advocate leaving a baby in the snow to help it grow a thicker skin, but Neely didn't understand why her mother left. For weeks after Alys left, Wylan could barely leave the house without Neely having an episode. They would find her hugging herself, rocking, pulling her hair. She would cling, or she would refuse to respond…

She was doing so much better now, she understood that grown-ups needed to go out during the day, but nighttime outings were rough. Wylan knew hearing their voices, knowing he and Jesper had come home and left again without a word to her, would confuse Neely. And it might scare her. He rarely thought about his former stepmother, but sometimes, sometimes he loathed Alys. She had always been silly and childish, but abandoning her daughter was just hateful. The things she said, the things Wylan heard her say—it was when he started thinking of her that way. As his stepmother. She had sounded like Jan.  
  
Wylan remembered this bedroom when it had been his and he remembered how his father made it up for his would-be heir. It was Neely's now. Wylan had never thought to love his own bedroom, as a child; it was a place to hide. He loved it now. He loved the bookshelf with its picture books, the soft blankets on the bed, the animals he had painted on the wall. It was _hers_ .  
  
Wylan heard Colm's voice well before he reached the bedroom. Both Colm and Neely seemed so wrapped up in the fairy story he was telling, neither noticed Wylan's arrival. He didn't announce himself, instead staying in the doorway and listening.

"…but the next morning, when he took the box out from under the bed, there wasn't any gold there at all, only a pile of cockle shells."

"Why?"

"Oh, the fairies do that sort of thing."

"Why?"

"It's funny to them. Fairies have a different way of looking at the world than do we humans. Their realm is different from ours and they live a very long time. Sometimes they'll play pranks on humans to entertain themselves."

"Wylan has a shell. He has lots of shells, he has the one on his desk and the ones the jar. Shells are nicer than gold."

Colm laughed. "Maybe, but gold is more valuable."

Neely shrugged. "Maybe the value is wrong."

"I've never been prouder," Wylan said. He didn't want his sister growing up too Kerch, understanding monetary value more than any other. It was easy for her to say, of course. She had grown up around plenty of gold. Shells were special. He was still proud she valued the shells more.

Neely and Colm turned to the door, and Neely grinned. "Brother!"

"Hey, sweetpea."

She scrambled out of bed, but hadn't hit the floor before Wylan picked her up. She held on just a little too tight.

"Hey, it's okay," Wylan murmured. "I'm here."

She nodded.

"Have you been good for Tante Marya and Onkle Colm?"

Another nod, her face still buried against his neck. Wylan could only conclude she was upset about the strange occurrences tonight. She was holding on like he might evaporate if she let go.

It was Colm who supplied, "As good as gold and then some. Your friends showed up with all of those children and she started bringing her toys down for them to play with."

Wylan had noticed the toys. He simply hadn't guessed it was the four-year-old who thought to share them, he assumed Marya or Colm must have prompted her.

"Not Dog," Neely added.

"Of course not," Wylan agreed. When she didn't respond, he asked, "What's wrong?"

Her voice was almost teary: "What if one of them needs him more than me?"

 _That_ was her concern?

"Oh, Neely."

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not. I'm not even a little bit mad, I am so proud of you, but I want you to keep Dog. He needs you."

"He does?"

"Oh, yes, very much."

Neely nodded.

"Hey, I need to talk to you about something. Jesper and I have an errand we need to take care of. We'll be going out again tonight—"

"No!" She tightened her grip on him.

"Shh," Wylan murmured, snuggling her close. "It's okay. We'll be back later."

She shook her head.

Wylan looked to Colm. "I know it's late," he said, "but can you stay with her until we get back? You're so good with her."

"Don't imagine I'll be sleeping until you boys are back safe."

Wylan's expression was pure gratitude. Neely had taken to Colm so quickly and he was so good with her, and Colm… well, there was just something about him. He was the first person Wylan would pick for who ought to be looking after his sister.

"Okay, Neely? You'll stay with Onkle Colm."

She shook her head again. "No, no, no!"

"You'll be here, you'll have Dog—"

"No, I'll do anything!"

"It's just for a little bit."

"Wylan," Colm said, utterly calm in the midst of this, "perhaps there's something of yours she can keep until you're home again?"

Wylan thought about that a moment. Then he set his sister down on her bed and crouched in front of her. He reached under his collar and fished out a thin gold chain, a single feather pendant at the end of it.

"You know what this is?" he asked.

She nodded and wiped her face on her sleeve. "From Jesper," she answered softly.

"That's right. Jesper gave this to me before my first Council meeting. I wear this every single day."

Another nod.

Wylan slipped the necklace off and settled it around Neely's neck.

"You'll give that back in a few hours. Yes?"

Neely looked down at the necklace, then back to her brother. She nodded. Softly, she told him, "Promise."


	16. Jesper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always nervous with OCs, but was especially nervous writing in an autistic child. I can't tell you how much I've appreciated reading that some of you like Neely, I worked so hard on getting her right, so thank you to those who left positive notes about her <3

Jesper couldn't help but think that for all the seriousness of the situation, this felt like the old days. This felt _good_ like the old days. He, Wylan, and Kaz strode down the Geldstraat, snowflakes drifting around them muffling their footsteps, though Kaz's cane still snapped audibly against the cobblestones. Jesper's beloved revolvers hung ready at his hips. They might be used tonight. For so long they had been little more than accessories, toys taken out at ranges. A familiar old fizzle in Jesper's blood met the chance for violence.

He no longer saw Inej. That didn't worry Jesper. The Wraith had, as she so often did, simply melted into the shadows.

He glanced at Wylan. Wylan was Jesper's biggest concern, but he held himself upright and determined now. When he came down from seeing their sister, there had been a glimmer in his eyes but a stubborn set to his jaw. There had been too many children hurt. Whatever small justice they eked out tonight, it would not be enough.

But Jesper might get to shoot someone.

Kaz fell back as they approached the Dryden mansion. The party had ended and the windows were dark.

Jesper imagined that, given enough time, Kaz would have invented a plan so clever, no one would know he laid a fingertip on this situation. Kaz did not have time. He hadn't known about the second warehouse, and they needed to get information from the Drydens before they learned their hostages were missing.

No. Not hostages.

Slaves.

Those poor kids were kept as slaves, and if this went wrong, they might all die tonight. The prospect settled heavily on Jesper, dulling his earlier excitement.

“Before we left,” Wylan said, “Neely told me she would do anything if we stayed. She’s been with us more than half her life but that’s still how she thinks.”

“She’s just a kid.”

“She’s our kid. I never hated Alys, but I’m starting to. Most of these kids tonight won’t have family to go to. How many others can’t we save? Can they even be helped, or is it—does it get inside a person too early?”

Jesper squeezed Wylan’s hand, then let it drop.

After a too-long moment’s silence, Wylan said, “I was expecting some reassurance.”

“I know,” Jesper said, “and less than two hours from now you’ll get it. Now knock on the gate.”

Wylan rapped his knuckles against the gate, rattling it, then tucked his hands under his armpits with some harsh words about authenticity.

"You were the one who forgot your gloves," Jesper said.

Wylan cut him a sharp look.

Jesper smugly tugged at the cuffs of his own gloves.

"Podge," Wylan muttered. He rapped against the gate again.

Too much time passed before a member of Dryden's household guard came out, demanding, "Move along, you degenerates!"

"Degenerates?" Wylan asked. He drew himself up and Jesper managed not to snicker at Wylan's 'self-important councilman of bluster' act. "I am Councilman Wylan Van Eck, and I will not be addressed this way!"

"Oh—o-of course—my apologies, Councilman. Didn't expect to see you here, sir."

Wylan nodded. Then he explained their errand: leaving in a hurry earlier, Wylan had forgotten his gloves. He was _terribly_ sorry to inconvenience the Drydens, but they were his best gloves, and as the Van Ecks were leaving early tomorrow morning, they simply hadn't a choice but to return. Wylan bullied the guard into letting them into the mansion, right up to the insistence the man needed to wake Councilman Dryden first.

"We'll wait here," Wylan said, and the guardsman left Wylan and Jesper in the mansion's foyer.

Jesper wouldn't have minded knocking the man out. That was their back-up plan—actually, that was Kaz's initial plan, but Wylan overrode it. The look of frustration on Kaz's face had been absolutely delicious.

This, Jesper thought, was the life he might have led if he stayed in the Dregs, breaking into a merch mansion in the middle of the night with Kaz and Inej—wherever they were. He wouldn't have minded having Wylan along on his adventures, but he knew the Dregs weren't really the place for Wylan. Just because he could be useful didn't mean he _belonged_. And as much as Jesper loved the giddy thrill of these jobs, even that mild giddiness when he hadn't got to shoot anyone yet—he gave his guns a loving stroke just to remind himself they were here—he hated the part of himself that loved it.

"Wylan."

Dryden came down the stairs, mildly disheveled in his dressing gown.

"Forgive my rudeness but, given the late hour perhaps it's justified. Was this necessary?" Dryden asked. "At this hour?"

Dryden dismissed his guardsman and sent him back outdoors, a severe miscalculation. But that was why they were here: to put Dryden at ease. Who would worry about harmless little Wylan Van Eck, baby-faced political firebrand with too-big ideas?

Wylan gave him a wounded look. Jesper hated those looks when they were directed at him. Those were 'you were gambling last night' looks. There were too many pieces sometimes that jangled him: the thrill of a job, the sweet music of Makker's Wheel, the outside feeling when everyone around him was merch-born. It all came to the surface right now.

"Tell me why you did it," Wylan said to Dryden.

"Wy," Jesper warned. Too direct. Jesper might be hurting, but he could still be professional.

"Why I did what?" Dryden demanded.

"The Shu children. Why? How could you, Karl?"

Dryden's eyes widened as he searched for an acceptable answer—then he opened his mouth to shout.

Jesper's guns were drawn before Dryden could make a sound.

"Answer his questions," Jesper said.

Dryden's lip curled. "Barrel filth never changes."

"Neither does mercher filth, far as I can see," Jesper replied.

"Does Erde know?" Wylan asked. "How could she stand by and watch—"

"Stand by?" Dryden repeated. He laughed. "You're as much a fool as your father claimed. It was her idea."

"Well, this complicates things," rasped a voice from the top of the stairs.

Jesper didn't take his attention off Dryden, but Dryden turned and Jesper knew what he would see: his wife with a knife at her throat. Kaz had agreed to approach this Wylan's way first, in part because it would be easier for him to get to Erde Dryden with her husband out of the room. He had never put faith in it, though. Kaz Brekker hadn't built his empire putting his faith in the goodness of men, especially merchants.

"Erde!" Karl Dryden cried.

"Oh, good. You do care for her," Kaz said. "Get out, you two."

Jesper holstered his revolvers. They weren’t necessary with Kaz’s blade.

"You'll swing for this," Dryden snarled at Wylan.

Wylan blinked at him. He made his eyes wide and dropped anything but openness from his expression. Saints, seeing him affect that innocence did deeply unfair things to Jesper!

"Swing?" Wylan asked. "Whatever for?"

"Everyone knows you run with gang members and degenerates."

Wylan shrugged. "Until tonight, Karl, I have also been known to run with you."

"How sweet," Kaz remarked. "Look at him. Van Eck still thinks you had a good reason."

"You couldn't possibly understand!" Dryden spat. "Ever since you inherited, you've had Ghezen's blessing despite your lacking faith. You make absurd investments across the True Sea and somehow you profit. I had no choice. I didn't have your luck. My reputation, my father's name, my family's future, it was all at risk. I had to. I didn’t savor making those sacrifices, but they have saved my businesses."

Wylan lunged forward. Usually, Jesper was the first one into the fight. This time he caught Wylan and held him back—and given how he was trembling, Wylan needed someone to hold him back.

"You _destroyed_ those children."

"Believe me, I wish it hadn't been necessary, but—"

Jesper interrupted, "Go outside, Wylan, you don't need to see what's coming next."

"You don't need to kill him," Wylan said.

"We might."

"Please, Jes—"

Jesper interrupted Wylan with a kiss, holding him close and stealing his breath. He went perhaps a bit farther than was necessary—after all, quieting Wylan's objections was a good aim, but even after nearly five years, Jesper could still make his knees go weak.

After he pulled away, he stroked Wylan's cheek gently.

"Go outside, gorgeous," Jesper murmured.

Wylan cast one more look at Dryden, then he turned and went outside.

Something hummed through Jesper. There had been adventures in the past few years. Wylan saw to it as best he could, brought them new experiences when they traveled, pushed Jesper to use his powers. He kept Jesper from getting bored and that let Jesper be happy. But this… this was something else. This was Jesper and two of his oldest friends in a place they weren't permitted and a time beyond manners, doing what they were doing anyway. This was _real_. This overwhelmed his senses, his mind, his everything.

Jesper drew one of his revolvers, giving it an idle twirl.

Then he fired into the wall. The bullet sliced through Dryden's dressing gown.

"We need them alive for a few minutes longer," Kaz said, a displeased edge to his voice that cut through some of Jesper's sense of thrill.

 _We need them scared, too,_ he thought, but kept that obvious fact to himself.

"Tell your guards everything's fine," Kaz instructed Dryden only moments before a guard knocked at the door and called out, asking if they were okay. Jesper and Wylan had a similar policy regarding where household guards ought to be without explicit invitation. That policy had a slightly different origin in their home, though, from a time they got a little carried away in the linen closet. 

Jesper pointed his revolver at Karl Dryden's gut. A slow, painful death without a Healer close by.

"Everything's fine!" Dryden called.

"We heard a gunshot—"

"I said it's fine! Leave me be!"

They all waited out the awkward moments until the guards were properly gone.

“Where’s the second warehouse?” Kaz asked. “We’ve taken care of the one past the Zwijnbridge.”

The Zwijnbridge, Pigs Bridge, crossed from the last warehouses and to the slaughterhouses. That made sense, Jesper supposed. What better way to hide livestock than… with other livestock?

“Kill me, then,” Dryden spat.

Jesper looked up at Kaz. He expected Kaz to do something to threaten Erde. What he hadn’t expected was that Kaz would break one of her fingers. Jesper heard the crack of bone even from the bottom of the stairs. This was the part he had forgotten. The harsh necessities… he remembered the excitement, but he had forgotten this. Erde Dryden cried out.

Tone sharp as a blade and twice as hard, Kaz repeated, “Where’s the second warehouse?”

Karl Dryden told them. He even took the key from a slim chain around his neck and threw it at Jesper's feet.

“Any defenses we should know about?” Kaz asked.

“The guards. Three guards. Ghezen’s works, you know, you can leave us alone!”

“Were the tariffs a coincidence?” Jesper asked. “Did you take advantage of your position on the Council to make the… the goods your child slaves manufactured more valuable?”

“I did not invent the tensions with the Shu Han,” Dryden said. “They started that! They sent their soldiers here years ago, they destroyed businesses, they killed people. Are we to blame for retaliating? Oh, I know, I know. Your Wylan and his aversion to holding people responsible for their actions, you likely believe we are to blame, he would have let them do as they wished. But some of us will protect this country!”

Jesper didn’t blame anyone for retaliating after the kherguud attacks. He was still afraid of them, deep down. Sometimes, when he used his powers, he couldn’t stop fearing, anticipating, that something might… happen… and yes, he held the Shu government responsible, as surely they had dispatched the kherguud. He didn’t blame children. Being Shu wasn’t a crime. He wondered how many of these children were Grisha, like Kuwei just trying to find a safe place when their own country treated them like specimens in an experiment.

He might have almost been partially swayed by Dryden’s argument were it not so cruel. Dryden cited the destruction of businesses before he said anything about the people who were kidnapped, who were murdered or worse. And while Dryden had waited out the attacks safely in his merch mansion, Wylan had been on the ground, throwing bombs. Badly, yes, but courageously.

“So you didn’t create the situation, you just profited from it,” Jesper summarized.

“This is Kerch, Mister Van Eck.”

Jesper’s attention slipped to Kaz, just briefly, then back to Dryden. “We’re not married yet. And I’m not taking that name.”

“Too good for the likes of the Kerch Merchant Council, are you?” asked Mister Dryden.

“It’s a low bar and I’ve very tall.”

Dryden scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kaz said, “his name carries more weight.”

“Yeah, but he's louder and he doesn’t want to call out his father’s name in bed.”

The banter helped distract Jesper from Erde Dryden’s soft weeping. He didn’t like the reminder of what they used to do… what they had done. He had done. Erde Dryden was a monster who helped kidnap and enslave children. Jesper was fairly certain Wylan would have something to say about her deserving justice, not revenge. Despite not entirely agreeing, Jesper hated listening to her cry.

“That’s horrific,” Kaz said.

Thinking he saw an opening, Karl Dryden pushed forward and grabbed for the gun in Jesper’s hand. Jesper cracked him across the head. It sent Dryden crumpling to the floor, not unconscious, but hurt.

“And being Kerch is no excuse for cruelty,” he added.

Dryden scoffed. “Tell me your husband only makes deals that are kind.”

“Again, not married yet, and he does, actually.”

Jesper had been to meetings with Wylan. He had read Wylan’s contracts. And when Wylan started working more and more to the West, Jesper had been there, tense because he had seen how Ravkans and Fjerdans usually behaved in Novyi Zem and doubted it was any better in Eames Chin or the Southern States. He hadn’t wanted to see that in Wylan. He hadn’t: Wylan had learned to listen first and treat business ventures as a way to help people where he could.

“Van Eck doesn’t kill kids, either,” Kaz added. “Why did you go through the trouble?”

Dryden looked between Jesper and Kaz, and apparently decided he wouldn’t be permitted secrets. He was right.

“Keeping them separate kept them obedient, mostly we just got rid of one when the other died, but there were still incidents. One tried to escape. Another got herself pregnant. They barely turn a profit as it is!”

Jesper didn’t blame the kid who tried to escape. He respected that. It was the second reason that made him so furious he trembled. _Got herself pregnant_. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Suddenly Erde Dryden’s crying didn’t bother him anymore.

"The show at the docks," Kaz said.

"An emergency." Apparently Dryden either was too intimidated to lie or saw no reason, because he explained, "The plan was to sink it, but the boat was vandalized. It was as close to the water as we could get it and chummed up, that dock is closed. It should have been eaten."

" _It_ is a human child," Jesper said, disgusted with the mercher scum so reasonably laying out the reasons a corpse would be desecrated like that. "You saw a situation in which children were vulnerable and desperate, and your first thought was, hey, I could make a lot of money here!"   
  
"They wanted to get out of Shu Han. It's the Shu government that makes orphans."   
  
The Kerch government also made orphans, Jesper thought, but while the Shu made their orphans through conscription, the Kerch made theirs through indifference. He wanted to hit someone. Anger was unspooling in his chest. Jesper wanted Wylan to kiss his hands and tell him everything would be okay, but since Wylan wasn't here, he wanted to punch Dryden's face in.   
  
He looked up to Kaz at the top of the stairs. Jesper knew he would _probably_ regret beating Dryden to a pulp, and without Wylan bringing out the gentleness in him, he needed Kaz to give him a reason not to do this. Call him stupid, call him impulsive, call him _anything_ . Because otherwise he would do something stupid and impulsive.   
  
"Jesper," Kaz said.   
  
It was enough.   
  
At least, it was enough to get him through the next five minutes. That was all he needed before the stadwatch arrived.   
  
"Good, you're here," Karl Dryden said, clambering to restore his scraps of dignity, "you can arrest that man!"   
  
But when he pointed to the top of the stairs, there was no one but Erde Dryden, holding her broken hand and weeping. Kaz Brekker was gone. It was just Jesper, the Drydens, and five stadwatch officers, and Jesper knew he was at his most vulnerable now. There was a distinct possibility that he would be arrested.   
  
"Then arrest him!" Dryden said, this time indicating Jesper.   
  
There were things Jesper couldn't lie about. He and Wylan had discussed it, agreed it was inevitable, and determined that they wouldn't try to hide Jesper's past. So here he was, a known former gang member, standing armed in the house of a member of the Merchant Council in the middle of the night, _hoping_ .   
  
It wouldn't be for long, of course. Jesper had been arrested before and knew it wasn't awful. He knew that if it happened now, Wylan would put things right. Honestly, getting arrested was a mild inconvenience—but he worried anyway, because if he didn't come home tonight, Neely would think it was forever.   
  
"Councilman Dryden, please come with us, sir. And—er—who are you?" a stadwatch corporal asked.   
  
"Jesper Fahey," he supplied. "Councilman Van Eck's fiance."   
  
The corporal looked at him for a long moment, and Jesper had no plan to fight if the stadwatch told him to accompany them. Instead the man shook his head and said, "Get out of here. But stay in town. We may need to speak with you later."   
  
Jesper nodded. "Good work tonight, gentlemen," he said.   
  
He didn't stick around to find out how Dryden protested. He had his family waiting at home.   
  
Hopefully.   
  
Of course, when Wylan left the Drydens' place, he hadn't waited outside for Jesper. He had gone to fetch the stadwatch. In full view of the officials, they would free the Shu children and Wylan would bring them home; the stadwatch would probably be relieved not to have to deal with the mess. Wylan insisted they work within the law as much as possible. Kaz had no faith in the law and had sent Inej to ensure everything worked out as it should. The arrival of the stadwatch _should_ mean that Wylan had been successful.   
  
It should.   
  
Jesper would believe that as soon as he saw Wylan.   
  
His thoughts almost distracted him from the cold night, but the cold nipping at any exposed skin and the damp soaking into his socks demanded his attention. Jesper curled and uncurled his toes as the joints started to ache. Stupid cold Ketterdam. Stupid cold, greedy Ketterdam… but the Van Eck mansion had lights in the windows. They gave him something to head toward.   
  
"Jesper."   
  
He paused outside the mansion.   
  
"Wy."   
  
"Ghezen's works," Wylan breathed, throwing his arms around Jesper. "What were you thinking, what were you thinking, Saints, Jes, it was supposed to be me."   
  
That had been the plan. Jesper would leave the Drydens' mansion in a huff, he would go and retrieve the stadwatch. That was why he pulled that stunt with the kiss. It was supposed to be Wylan standing there in the Drydens' foyer with a pistol, trusting his innocence and his position to protect him.   
  
"You had to come home," Jesper said, holding on just as tight as Wylan held on to him.   
  
"The business won't need anyone over the holidays and—"   
  
"You had to come home to Neely."   
  
"Oh…"   
  
Wylan's hold had turned from desperate to casual, so Jesper drew back. He cupped the back of Wylan's head, brushing his fingers into his curls.   
  
"It wasn't likely, but if one of us wasn't coming home tonight, it needed to be me. And Dryden looked like he could get violent. Forgive me."   
  
When they agreed Wylan would stay with Kaz and the Drydens, Kaz had looked hard at Wylan and asked if he was strong enough. It wasn't Wylan who Jesper doubted. Wylan was tougher than he looked. It was Kaz. He didn't trust Kaz not to throw Wylan under the cart if it served him.   
  
"Wylan," Jesper prodded.   
  
Wylan nodded. "Of course. I love you. I'm glad you're safe. And the children, they're…" He indicated vaguely toward the mansion.   
  
Together, they headed inside. Jesper tugged off his boots and his wet socks, then headed for the sitting room. The children had each paired with their siblings. Mostly stayed in pairs, some seemed to have made introductions.   
  
“We know what it means now,” Wylan said.   
  
“Kebben,” Inej added, materializing from nothing. There were enough identical pairs that they had all seen it, but she gave their thoughts voice, anyway: “Not just siblings. Twins.”   
  
"Saints," Jesper swore.   
  
It had been bad enough Dryden preyed on little kids. It had been bad enough he separated them and controlled them. But intentionally targeting twins… somehow it seemed even worse, if such a thing were possible.   
  
"Is Kaz with you?" Inej asked.   
  
Jesper shook his head. "He had business back at the Slat."   
  
Inej smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Same old Jesper. You don't have to make excuses for him, you know. He helped get the kids here, that's the most important thing."   
  
"We have beds made up for them," Wylan said. "Some of them will need to double up but it's better than where they were before. We don't have clothes, that'll have to wait, but… I need one more minute. We need one more minute."   
  
Jesper understood and followed Wylan up to the third story of the mansion. There was one more set of siblings in need of a reunion.

Wylan rapped his knuckles gently against the door to his sister’s room before pushing it open. She lay on her side, a book open in front of her and Dog hugged to her chest. Colm was with her, and this time Neely was reading to him. Jesper recognized the story about four little kittens who live by the canal. Aspects of the book reminded him quite strongly of gang life, how the kittens would steal and fight to stay together.

“Neely?” Wylan asked.

She looked up at him and smiled, only for a second, then a look of confusion replaced it. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

Wylan sat on the edge of the bed.

With a gasp, Neely scrambled out from under the covers and into Wylan’s lap, huddling there, her hands knotted in his shirt.

“I know,” Wylan said, wrapping his arms around her. “I know, I know.”

“You came back.”

“I did. I came back, just like I promised.”

He was always going to come back. Jesper knew that, Wylan knew that. But Neely didn’t. Her mama went away and never came home, why wouldn’t her brother do the same thing? This moment, the two broken Van Eck siblings clinging together against a storm that had already passed, it was real for them. It was what they needed. She needed him to be real and solid and to love her. He needed her to be safe.

They needed to be broken together and for a painful moment Jesper felt shut out of his own family. He would never have that.

He didn’t know if anyone really recovered from what had happened to them. Soon they needed to start preparing Neely for this—not tonight, but soon. He would go out or Wylan would. They would work up to sporadically going out together. It had been too long since their last real date.

Soon… but not tonight.

Tonight Wylan and Neely needed each other.

Colm had closed and set aside the book he was reading. He was calmer than Neely about it, but he still hugged Jesper tightly.

"I'll never like you doing these things, but I'm glad you're safe from it."

Jesper hugged his father. "I love you, too. Thank you for staying with Neely."

Colm nodded. "Go and be with your family now, Jes."

Jesper hesitated a moment longer. Then he went and sat beside Wylan and put his arms around both of them. Wylan leaned into Jesper.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Jesper kissed his temple.

They would always share something he didn’t, but he would always be here.

"Do you want to stay with us tonight?" Wylan asked.   
  
Neely nodded.   
  
"Okay. I have something to take care of—no, I'm not going out again, sweetpea. I'll be right downstairs, but it's very late for you to be awake. I want you to stay with Jesper."   
  
"Wy, I can—"   
  
Wylan shook his head. "You've done more than your share tonight. Get some rest. Neely?"   
  
She nodded. "Stay with Jesper," she repeated. "Yes."   
  
Wylan kissed her, then passed her over to Jesper. He could feel how tired she was, mostly dead weight in his arms.   
  
"Come on," Jesper said, scooping up Dog to come with them. It was reassuring. Sometimes, he felt keenly separate from them—not a Van Eck, not an abandoned child. So he liked how Neely clung to him now, how she trusted him.   
  
He liked how she murmured, sleepily, "Love you, love you." Once for Jesper, once for Wylan.   
  
"We love you, too," Jesper said. He gave Wylan one final reassuring glance and headed for bed. Wylan would be along soon enough.


	17. Jesper

Contact shook him out of sleep, a faint jostling at his feet, and Jesper instinctively jerked them away.

“Stop that,” he mumbled. He didn’t open his eyes. It was too early to be properly awake. Whatever was happening at his feet should just stop and let him sleep.

“Shh, go back to sleep.”

Jesper frowned and cracked open one eye. Still half-asleep, he asked a slurred, “What’re you doing to my feet?”

Wylan’s response was gentle, his voice low: “I was putting the blankets over them. You kicked them off in your sleep.”

“Hmph. ’S… good point,” he ceded.

He went back to sleep.

The next time Jesper drifted into consciousness, Wylan sat at the edge of the bed, legs crossed, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a sketchbook on his lap. Jesper was more aware now, partially of how adorable Wylan looked, all pretense dropped in focus, curls falling over his eyes, the tip of his tongue pinned between his lips. Jesper was also aware of the tiny powerhouse of a hot water bottle clinging to him. He didn’t want to jostle Neely awake any more than he wanted to break Wylan’s focus, so he stayed still, waiting for the moment Wylan’s eyes met his. It happened with a little startle. Wylan’s feet twitched in his thick wooly socks.

Jesper smiled. “Morning, beautiful.”

“Morning.”

He didn’t ask, _were you drawing me?_ He was well aware the answer was yes.

“What time is it?”

The light had a sort of frigid weakness this time of year, a weak quality that burned away for a few hours in the afternoon. All he knew was that they were somewhere past sunrise, somewhere before noon.

“Eight bells.”

“Why are we whispering?”

Wylan indicated: “She’s asleep.”

“I know,” Jesper whispered to him, “but she’d sleep through a stampede of elephants.”

Still… it was nice. Neely spent the night in their room often enough, but they expected to find her curled on the rug or at the foot of the bed. It was nice that she had stayed. It felt meaningful. Or maybe she had just been cold, there was no guarantee this related at all to sentiment.

"Van Ecks are an innately cuddly species," Jesper observed. He shifted her just slightly, making himself a little more comfortable, moving from passively being drooled on to actively holding her. Neely resettled, but stayed asleep against Jesper.

He needed this right now. There was an ache in him, a swath of hurt like a scar from what he had seen yesterday. The Drydens were arrested, but that was cold comfort. What Jesper needed, what soothed the ache of facing the wrongness of the world, was this. Everything right: his fiance, the child they were raising, all of them close in a chilly morning, the way warmth seemed to isolate them from the world. He knew he needed to get up soon. He needed to face the day, help out with their new houseguests… but first he needed to hug his baby sister. He needed to see that Wylan was safe and well. He needed to sink into the good life he had or he just might pick up his revolvers and find the next rush that would make him forget last night.

Wylan smiled at Jesper. Maybe at both of them, but Jesper was calling that smile his. "Do you want kids? When Neely's a little older, when we're a little older…"

The question was out of the blue, but Jesper couldn't deny he had thought about it. "One day," he said. Right now, though, he was a student and their hands were full with their sister. "Do you?"

They were still kids when they met, far too busy surviving and infiltrating government facilities to think about a domestic future. Jesper knew Wylan had been expected to produce an heir. Did merchants count adoption? Presumably that's what Wylan meant. There was surrogacy but that was… weird. Maybe if a medik or a Healer could work around the actual physical act, but Jesper assumed they were currently talking about adopting.

Did Wylan even want that? Children?

"Yes.” Wylan carefully, deliberately set aside his sketchbook and returned his pencils to their tin as he explained, “I don’t think I would have believed I could be a parent, but we fell into it before I realized what we were up to.”

He reached over and stroked her hair once, something he couldn’t always do when she was awake. She claimed it was too loud and it itched. Their family was far from conventional, Jesper thought, but it was perfect and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even if it meant he had to disappoint his da the way he did when he was 17, even if it meant the years spent lying about being a university student, even with all the pain… it was worth it. Jesper came to the keen realization that his life was perfect. He settled in that knowledge.

“What if Alys comes back?” Wylan asked.

There was the anxious, reasoned counterbalance to Jesper’s emotion. He still felt his perspective was the better one.

“Too bad for Alys,” Jesper said, “because she had her chance. Neely’s old enough to make her own choices. She couldn’t love anyone more than she loves you.”

“Mm, I can think of one person.”

“No, she’s not that close with Da.”

Wylan laughed and kissed Jesper’s cheek.

“We have a million and one errands today, are you coming?”

Staying home was awfully appealing. A part of Jesper even looked forward to the sheer chaos that was sure to result from Inej trying to marshal the Shu children. It was warm inside, too, or it would be once they got a fire going, and he wouldn't mind staying a little longer with Neely.

But…

Wylan was stronger now than he was five years ago when his father's men dumped him into the canal. (Jesper had got the story in shaky, tear-damp bits and pieces in the aftermath of nightmares. As it happened, nearly being murdered by one's father left a mark.) That did not mean Jesper liked the idea of sending Wylan by himself to the Barrel, even just West Stave. 

"I don't like you going alone."

"Jes…"

"I know and I don't care, you can't tell me not to worry about you."

"Can so."

"Okay, you can, but I won't listen. Just—hey. Just promise me you'll have waffles with Kaz soon."

Wylan had waffles with Kaz to make sure he actually ate once in a blue moon. Kaz had waffles with Wylan to remind everyone that he was under Dregs' protection. Jesper joined them if he wasn't in a lecture at the time because there were waffles to be had with two of the loveliest men in Ketterdam. 

"I promise," Wylan said, going to get dressed.

Jesper tried not to jostle Neely as he sat up, but she moaned and rubbed her eyes.

"What's happening?"

"Nothing, kit. Go back to sleep."

She gave him a troubled look. Two years and he still all too easily forgot how literally she thought and accidentally gave instructions. 

He kissed the top of her head. "You can stay up."

He should have continued moving, left the bed, found clothes for the day. Instead he enjoyed a few extra seconds of cuddling. Today was going to be a busy day, likely the first of many, and there wouldn't be time for lingering mornings. Besides, it was rare their minds so perfectly aligned, Jesper's need for delightful chaos too often at odds with Neely's need for routines and comprehension.

"Do you know how much I love you?"

"How much?"

"So, so, so much. I love you double much."

Neely giggled. "That's not a thing!"

"It is!"

"It's not!"

"No, it must be, because I love you all the much and more."

She laughed and cried, "Wylan, make Jesper stop saying crazies!"

“Who ever gave you the idea I was capable of such a thing?” Wylan asked, returning to sit beside them on the bed.

“Jesper did.”

“I never,” Jesper protested.

“Did so. You said Wylan can do anything.”

Jesper just about melted. The adoring look Wylan gave him did nothing to bring him back to his senses.

“Stop saying crazies, Jesper.”  
  
“Only for you, my love.”

"And don't stay in bed all day," Wylan said, leaning in for a kiss. It was small—there was only so much kissing either of them wanted to engage in before cleaning their teeth—but sweet.

"Wish I could," Jesper retorted, giving Neely one last squeeze before letting her go. "Go and get dressed, you can help me in the kitchen, okay?"

She nodded eagerly and slid to the ground.

Once they were alone, Wylan brushed Jesper's braids behind his shoulder and asked, "Are you okay?"

Jesper caught Wylan’s hand and pressed it to his cheek. He wasn’t. Last night had drained him—how much it thrilled him, and the disturbing reminder of the truth of Ketterdam. They both knew, of course, but they spent so long focused elsewhere, focused on the businesses, drafting and defending laws and tax code amendments to fund education and healthcare for the poorer districts…

“I just want to stay here all day.”

Wylan kissed him. “I wish I could give you that, but I can’t. Just think about the evening. I can promise you we’ll be together, right back here. Think about what you want tonight. I promise you'll get it.”   
  
Jesper raised his eyebrow. That was coming on pretty strong for Wylan!   
  
“Anything?” Jesper asked.   
  
Wylan just grinned.   
  
“Saints, I love you.”


	18. Wylan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: This chapter takes place in a brothel; though not graphic, it alludes to assault. There are references to transphobia.

Wylan had a complicated relationship with West Stave. At 17, he earned a reputation as quite the bawd after visiting nearly every prostitute in every pleasure house. At 18, he and Jesper published a book through their own printing press, recounting the stories he learned on West Stave. Though it focused on their stories, how they came to the Stave and not what happened there, the salacious nature of the book made it a bestseller in Kerch. Some didn't grasp the purpose and condemned him for promoting filth, with a wealthy Fjerdan even making a show of buying a whole crate of books just to burn. That salted cod merchant really taught Wylan a lesson by paying him all that money!

The profits were never the point. They were useful, but not the point. Wylan had needed something to shift the Kerch perception of prostitutes. It was easy to argue in favor of education and healthcare for poor children. The Council rarely agreed, but they understood. Protective laws for whores? The Merchant Council wouldn't hear of it. So Wylan made them hear.

Still, there was no stopping the industry. He pushed and pushed until a law was passed, then two, crafted with input from Inej and others who knew. There had been a crackdown on any house with girls or boys under 16. Wylan had been there to make sure they had somewhere to land, he had plans… lists of people he trusted willing to hire on a maid or a runner, anything but this. He had felt so _prepared_. And he had spent the night sobbing in Jesper's arms. They were so young. There were so many. He knew he couldn't stop it, couldn't help everyone, he knew he would try and it would never be enough.

That was why Jesper didn't want Wylan going alone to West Stave. He trusted Wylan not to wander, to protect his wallet. But Wylan's heart belonged to Jesper and it would take another beating today.

West Stave was quieter than usual. There was always a profit to be made in Ketterdam, but maybe because of the hour, maybe because it was the day before Saint Nikolai's, maybe because of the chill on the air, there was little traffic of any kind.

"I'm looking for something special." Kaz had given Wylan the words.

"Most of the girls are still asleep. I can wake someone, but—"

Yes, Wylan understood. He could wait in the parlor and pay extra for the time.

"Something special," he repeated, taking a tidily folded wad of kruge from his pocket.

"Right this way, sir."

There was no way to do this without frightening the man he was looking for. It simply wasn't possible; Wylan must appear like a regular customer no matter how it turned his stomach.

The House of Blushing Tulips was an overwhelmingly Kerch themed brothel. There were tulips and windmills painted in dreamy hues on the walls, an optimistic mural of Third Harbor rendered by someone who had probably never smelled Third Harbor, a lot of tulips. Fresh tulips in vases, tulip imagery on the drapes. Jesper had joked for months that he would cover the bed in tulip petals when Wylan was ready. Then he'd actually gone and done it. That memory felt tainted now.

Wylan waited in the hallway and listened as the person who ran the house went to rouse the man Wylan needed. Kaz hadn't given a name. He had explained the situation as a horrified Wylan swallowed the need to demand why. Why didn't Kaz _help?_

He knew.

Kaz was not out to save everyone. He protected his own. If that wasn't enough for you, you were the problem.

"Go ahead now, she's ready for you."

These places turned his stomach. He had learned to keep his expression closed, as he did now, simply giving a nod and stepping into the bedroom. There, in the middle of an antagonistically Kerch room, was the young man Wylan needed, currently nude and giving him an expectant, eager look. He had seen that look before and knew perfectly well what it meant.

He shut the door.

"Please cover yourself. I'm not going to hurt you."

He had done this too many times to be surprised by the wary, uncertain look he received. It was okay. It would be okay. Wylan averted his eyes until the other man said, "It's all right, I'm covered."

If a silk dressing gown counted as 'covered', but who was Wylan to quibble.

"What do you like to be called?" he asked.

"My name is Ashoryu."

"Ashoryu Yul…?"

That did the trick. Not only did Wylan show that he knew a touch about Shu culture, he recognized the young man's gender without regard to what he had seen when he first stepped into the room.

"Ashoryu Yul-Tsindur."

"May I sit, Ashoryu Yul-Tsindur?"

"Please," Ashoryu said, indicating vaguely.

The room did not look uncomfortable, not when considered as its occupant’s workplace. It was decorated in delicate blue and white patterns reminiscent of a Kamolle, a port city on the south-west coast of Kerch. Ashoryu himself was a tall, slender man with sleep in his eyes. He wore his long hair loose around his shoulders. Though he was distinctly Shu, the silk dressing gown he wore matched the room's decor a little too aggressively. When Wylan settled in a chair with tulips stitched on the seat and back—there was Kerch, and then there was _too_ Kerch—Ashoryu poured a drink. He offered one to Wylan, who declined, then settled opposite him.

"I'm only here to talk. If you'd like to dress, I won't look."

Ashoryu shrugged. "One loses one's shame in such a place. What can I do for you, if not to your pleasure, Mister…?"

"Wylan Van Eck."

"Oh."

His reputation preceded him, then.

"I have need of a translator and I understand you speak Shu."

"Shu," confirmed Ashoryu, tilting his glass so the liquor caught the light, "Ravkan, Kerch of course. A little Kaelish, but only because I once had a taste for mournful poetry. Even an ode to victory sounds mournful in Kaelish. Not what you expected of a whore, Mister Van Eck, am I?"

Wylan readily acknowledged his surprise. He had met enough people working in this industry not to make too many assumptions, but there was something decidedly posh about Ashoryu.

"A mighty fall. My parents were courtiers, favored by the Empress. They could accept a daughter who liked to wrestle with the boys in childhood. It was when a dear friend began… experimenting that they decided they had reached their limit. She was what you call a Corporalnik, she strengthened my jaw, removed my breasts such as they were, I was only fifteen you see. They sent me away to a distant aunt who lived on the coast. They loved me, but my differences endangered their standing."

How familiar a story it was. Wylan nodded his understanding.

Then, hurrying the words, Ashoryu said, "I lived as a boy, the slavers took me to sell as a laborer, but when my true nature was discovered they sold me to a brothel for rancid men to teach me what a woman is."

He downed the last of his drink and went to pour another. Standing by the dresser, he said, "You're a very good listener, Mister Van Eck."

"I'm told that," Wylan replied.

"I don't think of myself as a whore. I'm not a participant, all I do is show my flat chest and my womanhood. I'm an animal in a menagerie."

An apt metaphor, Wylan thought.

"I think of you as Ashoryu," he said.

"So. A translator?"

"Yes, I have twenty Shu children in my home and barely a word of Kerch among them.” Wylan offered no explanation for this strange situation. It would soon enough become clear and nothing he said would be equal to the realities.

Ashoryu said, “You have a reputation for hiring your domestic help from the brothels.”

That was neither entirely accurate nor entirely unearned. Wylan had hired plenty of people through the usual channels. It was only when he needed someone for an unusual job that he looked to the brothels. He had done it the first time just after his mother returned home, when he needed someone willing to serve as a maid to a half-mad woman who couldn’t always look after herself. When he needed someone loyal, when he needed someone who wouldn’t ask questions, when he needed someone who wouldn’t gossip, he came to the brothels.

“Are you asking for a permanent position?”

“Shamelessly.” Ashoryu returned to sit opposite Wylan as he said, “Someone will take my place, you know. Numerically, what good do you do with it? Helping one person?”

Wylan had answered the same question many, many times.

“I can’t stop it,” he acknowledged, much as it pained him to say. “I use the law to regulate. Others use… different means to go after suppliers. But if I hired every working man and woman on West Stave, the next day there would be more taking their place. I can’t stop the industry. It’s the poverty. The desperation. The true solution is good education and a strong economy. I’m trying. In the meantime, when I need someone with a particular skill, I find someone with that skill. Maybe I only help one person, but I help that person.”

Ashoryu nodded. “And today you need a Shu speaker.”

“I need a Shu speaker,” Wylan confirmed. He knew he had found the right man for the job. A native Shu speaker who also spoke Kerch like a poet? “Someone with your qualifications should be working for an embassy. I can’t give you that, but I can offer you three days. If, at the end of those days, you’d rather not stay in my house, you can return here to your indenture. If you want to stay, I’ll buy out your contract and offer you a fair bargain.”

He couldn’t help thinking of the bruises on Ashoryu’s hips and arms, the ones he had shown before carefully concealing himself. Someone else would take his place, but not someone who would be so roughly abused, not someone men sought to punish for their nature.

Did that make it better?

Were there measurable shades of vileness?

Ashoryu nodded and Wylan went to negotiate the visit. He found himself hoping Ashoryu would stay, not only because these places were horrible, but because he genuinely liked Ashoryu. He was strong. He had been frank and proud; he had kept a part of himself despite everything. It was impossible not to admire.


	19. Jesper

While Wylan took care of finding a translator to talk to the Shu children, Jesper addressed the universal language of food. Everyone understood that. They would still need to get to the markets by the end of the day, but Jesper had left his dough overnight and spent a fair bit of the morning baking bread with Colm helping and Neely “helping”.

The kids were a mixed group. Some were shy, a few hiding out in the blanket fort; others seemed stunned. But kids are resilient, and some played quietly while others had put together a game of tag and were rampaging and shouting through the mansion. Jesper couldn’t help feeling particularly fond of the last bunch.

“You should join in,” he told Neely, but she shook her head and stuck close beside him.

Some of the children spoke some Ravkan. Jesper’s Ravkan wasn’t non-existent, but Inej’s was far better, and she had done her best to act as a go-between. So to the best of their ability they had communicated that the children were safe. Jesper assumed the children were skeptical. The last people who claimed they were safe had locked them up in a warehouse.   
  
By ten bells, the bread was baked and the kitchen tidied, and a ridiculous amount of cups of tea poured. Jesper left Neely with Colm. The bread and tea had communicated clearly enough to earn himself slightly less wary looks from some of the children. Jesper spoke two languages fluently, a scratch of two more, but he was excellent with universal languages. Food had done well.   
  
Time for the second universal language.   
  
Jesper brought out a football and kicked it down the corridor. He wasn't in any rush. He was just establishing what he was doing.   
  
Once he had attention from some of the kids, he gave the ball a gentle kick toward a child. The girl looked about ten, maybe. She caught the ball with her foot. After a quick exchange with her sister, she kicked it back. Jesper grinned at her.   
  
That was what it took.   
  
Half an hour later, Jesper, Inej, and about a dozen Shu children were playing a game of what Jesper liked to call chaos-ball. There were no real rules. There was just kicking, stealing, running, and a lot of laughter. There had been a fair bit of shouting, too, not that Jesper had any idea what the kids were saying, but they sounded happy. Jesper was breathless and sweating, but in fairness to him, no one else was playing chaos-ball with a four-year-old on their back.   
  
The game stopped when Wylan arrived, a Shu man beside him. The children one by one stopped running, stopped laughing. Jesper hefted Neely a little higher and crossed to Wylan.   
  
"Hey, gorgeous," he said, kissing his cheek.

“I see you’ve kept busy,” Wylan remarked. He motioned for Jesper to turn. 

“Well, we can’t  _ all _ spend our mornings in leisure, now, can we?” Jesper retorted as Wylan lifted Neely off his back. Jesper rolled his shoulders.

“This is Ashoryu Yul-Tsindur, he’s going to help us as a translator today. Ashoryu, this is Jesper Fahey, my fiance, and our friend Inej Ghafa.”

They shook hands, Ashoryu saying, "It's nice to meet you, Miss Ghafa and Mister Fahey. And this must be your daughter."   
  
Neely giggled and blushed with a very clear, "I'm not invisible!" like it was the goofiest suggestion in the world. Times like this, Jesper wondered what it must be like in her mind. He knew her too well to think she laughed at nothing, but he didn't know what the joke was and wanted to.   
  
"Our sister, Neely. Say hello," Wylan said, giving Neely a nudge, "he's going to be staying here for a while."   
  
"Hello, Mister Ashoryu."   
  
"And…  _ most _ of our newcomers," Jesper added, motioning to the Shu children.   
  
"We haven't had a chance to find new clothes for them," Wylan added—only Wylan Van Eck would worry that the prostitute he hired as a translator (and whose indenture he would buy out, Jesper knew he would) thought they hadn't done enough for the nearly two dozen refugee children they brought home in the middle of the night.   
  
Ashoryu greeted the children in Shu, and soon a mess of a conversation was underway, everyone talking at once.    
  
While Jesper and Wylan tried to think of where to gather the group, Ashoryu organized them on the stairs, ten groups of twins, and more than a few hands on shoulders or elbows pushed against each other. If Jesper had to guess, he would place the youngest at around ten, the oldest maybe fifteen. All of the children had roughly cut hair, and he knew that was to discourage lice. The tunics and trousers they all wore were stained and colorless, worse than prison issue—Jesper would know. Those were going to be burned. All of the clothes down to the last stitch were going on a damn bonfire.   
  
"Good morning," Wylan began. It had to be him. He introduced himself, Jesper, Inej, and Ashoryu, then, "I am a member of the Kerch Merchant Council and on behalf of my country, I am so terribly sorry for how you've been treated here. It was unforgivable. The man responsible has been arrested and hopefully will spend the rest of his life behind bars."   
  
A child said something then, the same girl who had spoken up last night. Others gave her surprised or worried glances.    
  
"He should die," translated Ashoryu.   
  
"I know it's a tempting thought." Wylan didn't overtly argue and no one else stepped in to plead Dryden's case. The most Jesper would say was that the longer he lived, the longer the bastard suffered.   
  
Another question, another translation: "What happens to us now? Do we go home?"   
  
"If that is what you want, I'll arrange it. If you'd like to stay, you can stay here. You'll be looked after, kept comfortable, and you'll learn Kerch. You'll learn skills to find a job when you're old enough. Honest work."   
  
Ashoryu smiled at the next question. He gave emotional reactions in a way that wasn't professional for a translator, and it made Jesper like him. "Why should we learn Kerch? You learn Shu."   
  
Wylan's reply was a crooked smile. "If any of you decides to stay, I'll try."   
  
"Good luck," Jesper muttered.    
  
When Wylan glanced at him, Jesper gave the sort of too-innocent grin that may as well have required one finger. It was true that Wylan hadn't much knack for languages. His Fjerdan wasn't awful, but his Zemeni was hodgepodge at best. Wylan scooped up Jesper's hand and kissed his knuckles, a very polite, very Wylan way of saying,  _ you're not wrong, but you're not helping. _   
  
"If any of you are Grisha," Inej said, the term garnering a handful of reactions, "I offer you passage to Ravka or to Novyi Zem." Despite hard-won progress in Kerch and even Fjerda—won by Nina Zenik's teeth and steel resolve—Ravka and Novyi Zem were still the safest places to be Grisha. Jesper knew that very well. It still stung to hear.   
  
And so the conversation progressed. The children's options were made clear: they could stay, they could go home, they could go across the True Sea, they could go off on their own if they wished. They didn't need to decide now, but they deserved to know their options. 


	20. Neely

Ketterdam was a kind place to have brothers. Not the inside places, those were mostly okay, and not home since that wasn't really Ketterdam. Those were  _ nice _ places to have brothers, but real outside Ketterdam was a  _ kind _ place to have brothers.

It was different. Wylan said. He said it wasn't enough to be nice, that a good person must be kind because kind is about what makes a person better off and nice only makes them distracted. Neely did not care for distractions. She did not care for lies either but once Tante Marya told her she wasn't being nice, so Neely said 'thank you' to her and it turned into a whole debacle and Wylan got involved and he wasn't making sense. It was terribly embarrassing because Neely wound up so confused she cried, and Wylan tried to pick her up but she was already prickly and she was angry with him and she needed to do her quiet things so she had bitten him. She didn't mean to bite Wylan. She just needed the loud to stop and he interrupted when it was all too much buzzing in her head.

Anyway real outside Ketterdam was like that a bit. It had lots going on and it didn't make sense. Ketterdam was a kind place to have a trusted hand to hold. Today there was snow and there were windows through it. Neely stepped on the windows and counted—one, two, three, four, five, six, window. One, two, three, four, five, six, window. One, two, three, and it was too close and she had to stomp her feet very quickly in little steps to make four, five, six, window.

"It's okay," Wylan said, "we're nearly there and it'll be warm inside."

Neely nodded, eyes fixed on the snow and the windows. It would be good to feel warm. It would be good, too, to be at an inside place. Inside places tended to be quieter.

In the end there weren't enough windows, quite, which bothered her because the pattern didn't end properly and it turned into an extra noise that itched inside her head. The shop was different, though. The door jingled and the shop had a pleasant clean smell. Neely took a deep breath, then ran back and opened the door to make it jingle again and gasp cold air across her. A third time.

"Neely."

She looked over at Wylan. 

"Hey, come and help me out, sweetpea," Jesper said. Neely dropped the door and followed him to the middle of the shop, where there was a whole table full of sweets in an elaborate, colorful holiday display. She was only just tall enough to see over the top of the table but Jesper picked her up for a proper look. "Glorious, isn't it?"

Neely nodded. She settled against Jesper.

"Okay, we need a game plan because Wylan won't let us have everything. Honestly, grownups."

"You're a grownup."

"Shh, don't tell people that!"

Neely grinned and pressed a finger to her lips, promising it was a secret.

"That's my girl. Now. We're going to need to pick a few things, we can definitely talk Wylan into a few things, right?"

Sometimes Jesper said strange things, but Neely still believed him no matter what. Of course she did, Jesper was brilliant and she trusted him innately. As he looked over his shoulder, Neely snuggled against him. The shop was pleasant because it was warm and smelled like cleaning soap and wood and—this close to the display—sweets. Jesper was better. He was warm, but a different warm, and he smelled like Jesper, like gunpowder and shaving soap.   
  
"Which one?" he asked.   
  
Neely deliberated a moment, then pointed to a tin of toffee.    
  
"That one, huh?"   
  
"The most superior of all sweets,  _ obviously _ ," she said, mimicking words and cadence she had once heard from Jesper.   
  
"Are you sure? There's a bag of malted milk balls."   
  
That was her first choice. They were the best sweets—she liked to eat the chocolate, save the dissolvey-crunchies that fizzled against her tongue, and then have those later. She liked sweets with routine… but Jesper liked toffee. Also, toffee was good. Not malted milk balls good, but better than pound cake good.    
  
"Okay, here's the plan, listen close. We let Wylan ask what we want. I'll try to convince him to let us have  _ two _ sweets, but if I nudge you like this, I need you to look as sad as you can. Got it? You ready?"   
  
Neely nodded. She was ready! And she was excited. It was impossible not to be excited when Jesper had so much enthusiasm for a plan. They were doing this fun game together.   
  
"Are you two about ready to head out?" Wylan asked. "We still need to take care of clothes and extras."   
  
"Sure, but Neely was asking about having a treat."   
  
She had  _ not _ asked any such thing!   
  
"Shh," Jesper told her. "We wouldn't object to that, right?"

They did that sometimes. Neely did not care for it. Her brothers talked like they were one person who was two people arguing with himself.  
  
"Didn't I already promise you hot chocolate?" Wylan asked.   
  
"Yes, but these are for at home, Wy."   
  
Wylan sighed. "Okay,  _ one _ ."   
  
Jesper nudged Neely. She looked around, then remembered. She stuck her lip out and made her eyes sad.   
  
Wylan laughed. "What are you teaching our sister?" He kissed Jesper, then Neely. "Fine. But only because I love you both so much."   
  
Jesper waited until Wylan's back was turned to whisper, "Good work!"   
  
Neely giggled.


	21. Wylan

Wylan had learned many skills in the five years since he leapt into a filthy canal. He had learned about building explosives and chemical weevils, and pushing down the part of him that said this was wrong because starving was worse. He had learned about running a merchant empire. He had learned simple tasks, like washing dishes and making a bed.

He had learned to lay the table, too. For tonight’s dinner, they had dusted off the leaves and set them in, turning their usually too-small table in a too-big room into a too-big table in a still-too-big room. Wylan had 26 plates, glasses, forks and knives, butter plates with little butter knives because that was what civilized folk did. The only matching set was his father’s fanciest flatware. 

Wylan liked the look. He liked the tidiness of it all. He really liked that refugee children were going to eat off his great-grandfather’s plateware, because his father would hate that.

“Are you quite certain of your math?” Ashoryu asked.

Wylan nodded. “The twins, you, Addam, Jesper, Inej, my mother, Jesper’s father. Neely and I will be in the kitchen. She doesn’t do well around crowds.” 

He saw Ashoryu’s disapproval, but it didn’t change Wylan’s opinion. That afternoon’s shopping trip had been enough; after coming home, Neely spent an hour alone in her bedroom, wrapped up in her blanket and cuddling Dog. He wasn’t going to put her in a room with nearly 30 other people and expect her to be okay.

“What message are you sending to them if you won’t sit down to dinner with the twins? Even on Kanuntal Nikolai?”

Wylan needed a moment to place the term, then remembered—Nikolai’s Eve, the Ravkans used it to name the night before the feast of Saint Nikolai. Yes, he would have liked to sit down with them, with everyone—but it wasn’t practical. It wasn’t possible.

“What message am I sending to my sister if I make her eat alone in the kitchen?” Wylan replied. 

“She doesn’t have to be in the kitchen.”

“She can’t be around crowds,” he said. 

It was difficult to explain. It was difficult to explain because he didn’t fully understand it himself, but he knew a crowded room like that would agitate her. When they took her in, that was the promise Jesper and Wylan made: they wouldn’t punish her for being different. He wasn’t going to force her to be in a setting that upset her. When she was older, when she could talk to them about it and explain what happened to her in loud rooms, things might change. Maybe there was something they could do to help.

Wylan saw that he wasn’t winning this argument, so he asked it outright: “What else do I need to do? They’re safe, warm, clothed, fed. I’ll see that they have what they need, but this doesn’t stop being a safe place for my sister. I know you don’t understand it. I don’t, either. But I can tell when she’s hurting and it’s my job to protect her from that.”

He didn’t think Ashoryu understood, just like Colm hadn’t understood until he saw Neely lose control. They had to see, to know that this wasn’t a choice she made, before they could understand that this wasn’t an indulgence for a spoiled child. This was necessary.  Wylan couldn’t fault Ashoryu for not understanding, any more than he faulted Colm.

Ashoryu's expression shifted to a distant half-frown. Wylan knew that most Kerch men Ashoryu met were not open to hearing a contrary opinion and he didn't want to be a part of that, but he couldn't let himself be swayed. Not this time.

“Why did you hire me if not to be a voice for them?” Ashoryu asked.

Wylan nodded. It was a fair question. “That's why,” he agreed, “and that's why I want you to understand, because I need you to be my voice to them as well. Neely is four years old and the only way she makes it through a dinner with twenty-seven other people is if I hold her on my lap the entire time, and even that would be a maybe. I don't want, I won't put my little sister in a position to be hurt just to prove that she is at risk. I will do all I can for the twins. And Jesper will be there at dinner.” They had discussed it, Wylan and Jesper. Either of them could have spent the evening with Neely, but they knew it was Jesper who could win over a room full of people. Jesper was the more approachable of the pair. 

“I don't understand her,” Ashoryu said. “But I believe I understand you enough to trust you.”

Neely didn’t understand, either. That was why Wylan said, “How about you and me have dinner in the kitchen? We haven’t had a lot of time together just us.”

He knew the truth, but she was four years old. She was young enough that when her big brother told her something, that was truer than any word from Ghezen’s lips. She was old enough that she knew he had choices and had put her first. At his suggestion, she looked at him with so much love and joy.

She looked at him like he was Jesper.

Suddenly there was nowhere he would rather be than here in the kitchen with Neely.

He left Neely at the kitchen table for just a moment to get himself a glass of water, and when he turned around again, she was sitting cross-legged on the tabletop. Wylan raised his eyebrows. Neely gave him the big-eyed pouting look Jesper had taught her, and for the second time that day, he loved both of them too much to do anything but shake his head.

“Fine, but only because of the holiday!” Wylan ceded. He returned to the table and hopped up, sitting opposite Neely. To her visible surprise, he pointed out, “It’s a holiday for me, too!”

She laughed. 

“And I expect you to eat your dinner, don’t just pick out the rookworst.”

She tried the pouty face again, but he refused to give in this time. Still, he couldn’t be too serious, not sitting there on his own kitchen table. Instead he took her spoon, scooped up a mouthful of hutspot, and said, “Look, it’s a bird.”

She was far too old for the ‘it’s a bird’ trick, just like she was far too old to be spoon-fed, but who cared? He didn’t mind. The silliness had them both laughing. It got several mouthfuls of hutspot into her, too.

Wylan had the strange sensation of knowing it might have been like this if he had never been sent away. The noise from the dining room would be different—not the laughter and chatter in Shu they heard now, but a dinner party nonetheless. He wouldn’t put it past Jan Van Eck to shut his only children out of such an event; Wylan was often sent to bed early or simply told to stay out of the way, and Neely wouldn’t have been acceptable to Jan. But Wylan would have protected her. Just like he did now, he would have kept her from the cold this house could trap within its sturdy walls. She would have been okay as long as he was here.

“You know what, sweetpea?”

She shook her head.

“I love you so much.”

Neely laughed.

“Why’s that funny?”

“Because I do know that!”

The answer made him smile, too.


	22. Wylan

After the dishes had been cleaned and left to dry, Wylan and Jesper's extended family gathered in the sitting room. It was only the six of them—Jesper, Wylan, Colm, Marya, Inej, and Neely. Snow fell softly outside, but a fire crackled in the fireplace and kept the room comfortably warm. Or maybe the warmth came from the six people inhabiting the room. Or maybe it was the warmth between them.

Wylan would ask Jesper for details on how dinner went, would learn what he could about the twins, he would. Later. For now, it was a holiday, everyone was well, and Wylan wanted to enjoy time with his family.

They clustered around a jigsaw puzzle scattered on the coffee table. Only Colm and Marya actually sat in chairs, Colm making an attempt at the puzzle and Marya knitting a scarf. Inej perched on a footstool, back straight as an acrobat’s and shoulders proud as a woman who knew herself to be rightly trusted by good folks and feared by bad ones. Jesper and Wylan sat on the thick rug, comfortably near to one another. They weren’t particularly helpful on the puzzle with their limited range. But no one minded. Neely was under the coffee table, coloring.

Inej recounted a story about her cousin’s toddler, by all accounts a challenge of a child—“And they’re expecting their second any day now,” she concluded.

“That sounds… exhausting,” Wylan said.

“Ours never did that,” Jesper added, squeezing the most readily available part of Neely—her heel—in case anyone wondered who they meant.

“Jesper was worse,” Colm said.

“Da,” Jesper objected.

“Well, you were, Jes.”

“Do you have to remember every embarrassing thing I’ve done?”

“I don’t need to remember  _ every time _ you took your clothes off in public, it must have happened three times a week until you were ten.”

“Da!”

Wylan controlled his laughter enough to kiss Jesper’s cheek, but he and Inej were both obviously amused. Neely wriggled out from beneath the table

“Wylan could be very squirmy in church,” Marya said.

“Did he ever shout  _ Get to the murders! _ at the priest?” Colm retorted, sparking a new round of laughter. Jesper was clearly proud of that one.

“I remember that, we had a game,” Wylan said. “You picked a secret word we had to listen for, to make me pay attention.”

“You were never much trouble,” Marya said.

_ Not for you, _ Wylan thought. He loved her. He loved the relationship, the trust they had now, but he was still jealous of Jesper and Colm. What did a merchant’s wife do that was so much more important than raising her own child? He knew he would never ask. The question would hang between them, always, and he would never tell her it was there.

From behind Wylan, Neely wrapped her arms around her brother’s shoulders. He grabbed her wrists and leaned forward, raising her off the ground. Neely giggled until Wylan set her back on her feet.

“You know, we’re going to tell these sorts of stories about you one day,” Jesper said, reaching back to give her braid a tweak.

“Yeah,” Neely agreed. “Because my papa is in prison.”

Wylan felt the thoughts drain out of his mind. Oh, he wondered—he wondered how she knew that, when she heard that, but he wondered it distantly, like it was outside.  _ Who was talking to her about Jan? _

Everyone else had frozen, too. The needles slipped out of Marya’s hands.

“I-it was a joke?” Neely asked, winding her hair around her fingers. She didn’t always understand everything, but this, clearly, she understood. She understood that she had said something wrong.

“Neely…” Jesper began.

“It was a  _ joke _ !” she wailed. She gave her hair a sharp tug. Then another.

“Shh,” Wylan murmured, picking up his squirming sister and drawing her into his lap. She repeated that it had been a joke as he said, “Shh, my love, no one’s upset. No one’s upset with you.”

“But I lied, I did, it was a joke!”

“I don’t think it was. And you were right, your papa is in prison. Who told you that?”

Neely stopped squirming, hiding her face in his shirt instead. “Grandmother said.”

_ Grandmother? _ Wylan hadn’t been certain Neely even remembered Alys’s mother. Like Alys—and, if he was being entirely honest with himself, Marya—she had believed in raising children the merchant way, handing them over to nannies when they were dirty, loud, difficult, or otherwise inconvenient. Unlike Marya but very like Alys, she had openly disliked Neely.

“When did you last see your grandmother?” Wylan asked.

Very, very softly, she replied, “When Mama left.”

Wylan no longer felt he was holding Neely to comfort her. He was holding Neely because she was warm and he had gone truly cold indeed. She shouldn’t remember anything about her grandparents, but he was especially worried about what she might have overheard. Her grandparents had not wanted to keep her.

“You remember that day?” he asked.

“No.”

“Neely.”

She shook her head. “No, no, no, I don’t, I don’t anything!”

“I remember it,” Jesper added. “That was the day I met you, sweetpea.”

Alys and her parents had never welcomed Jesper. They were hardly the only ones, though over the past years, as the Van Eck shipping empire continued to expand and show Ghezen’s favor, the murmurs had been less.

“Tomorrow,” Neely said softly.

“That’s true,” Wylan agreed, remembering. “You were asleep when I brought you home, you didn’t meet Jesper until the next morning. You really remember this.”

She nodded. “He hurt Dog.”

“He did. That was very rude.”

Jesper punched Wylan’s shoulder gently.

“You hurt a dog?” Colm asked.

“I hurt  _ Dog _ ,” Jesper said.

The response came, still muffled, from Neely: “Podge.”

To which even Inej could not help laughing. Cracks of warmth nudged some of the cold from Wylan, but he still wasn’t ready to ease his hold on Neely. She wasn’t keen to ease her hold on him, either.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jesper grumbled. He reached under the coffee table and withdrew Neely’s favorite stuffed animal. That day, he had picked up Dog by the ears. Neely had screamed. After Jesper dropped the stuffed animal, Neely had hugged it, hunched around its soft little body, and glowered at Jesper. He and Wylan were both cautious with Dog after that.

Now he tucked the stuffed dog under Neely’s arm.

“Jesper can be very reckless,” Marya added.

“Aw, now you’re joining in?!” Jesper asked. “Come on, that’s just not fair!”

Their conversation gave Wylan cover enough to ask Neely, “You know no one’s angry with you, right?”

She nodded, though he wasn’t sure she meant it.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. We’re surprised you remember what happened when you were so young, that’s all.”

No, it wasn’t. Wylan had assumed that Neely just… had few if any memories of her mother’s home. He hoped it was true. Neely’s mother and grandparents hadn’t understood her. Maybe because she hadn’t spoken at the time, he had assumed she didn’t make memories. Now he knew that was wrong.

“Neely, do you know who my papa is?”

She peeled away from him enough to point at Colm.

“Not exactly. We met when I was already a teenager. I was lost and I needed help, even though I didn’t know how to ask. Part of being someone’s mama or papa is teaching them how to be a grownup. That’s what Onkle Colm did for me.”

Neely just nodded.

The words stuck in Wylan’s throat. He swallowed.

“Neely,” Jesper began.

“I can do this.”

Jesper nodded.

“The man in prison is my papa, too. That’s what it means to be brothers and sisters, it means you have the same mama and papa. You and I have different mamas. Technically, we are half-brother and half-sister. But since I’m not half a person, I consider myself your full brother. It’s okay if you want me to call you my half-sister—”

“No.”

Wylan couldn’t help smiling at how fast she asserted that she wanted to be his sister. He needed it sometimes, that reminder. He needed to know she loved him.

“Is Captain Ghafa our family?”

“Inej?” Wylan asked, letting her answer that question for herself.

Inej considered for a moment. “There are two kinds of family,” she said. “There’s family by blood like you and Wylan or Wylan and Marya or Jesper and Colm, and there are the people we meet who change the course of our lives and we want them kept close. I’m the second kind. I met Jesper when I had forgotten how it felt to smile. And I met Wylan when I was forgetting the right questions to ask.”

Neely shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense,” she complained, “why didn’t you meet them at the same time?”

“I met Jesper before he knew Wylan.”

Neely looked between her brothers as she tried to make sense of this utterly preposterous claim.

“It’s true,” Jesper said. “When Inej met us, we were waiting for each other.”

“Yeah, some more patiently than others.”

Jesper, Wylan, and Inej laughed; Colm and Marya shook their heads.

“Are you feeling better?” Wylan asked softly.

Neely nodded.

Sometimes, the reality hit him that his baby sister would grow up, probably a lot sooner than he’d like. She would be too big and too old to cuddle. He would miss that closeness. There was safety in it and promises and things not said. He worried, too. They held her to comfort her. They also held her to restrain her. Sometimes, he worried what would happen when Neely was too big for Wylan, then Jesper to stop her from hurting herself.

“Do you have any questions?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Will you be my brother forever?”

“Yes. I promise."


	23. Inej

Theoretically, Inej supported Jesper and Wylan's decision that anyone who worked for them should have time off over the holidays. That did not stop her missing her non-holiday visits to the Van Eck mansion, when she could count on readily available creature comforts. She needed an extra minute to convince herself to push back the covers this morning, to get up and dressed.   
  
Outside her bedroom was a small box. Inej lifted the lid and smiled.   
  
She found Jesper and Wylan in the sitting room. A fire kept the room pleasantly warm. She wasn't surprised to find Jesper fully embracing the spirit of the holiday by spending the morning in his nightshirt and dressing gown. She wasn't surprised that Wylan was lying with his head in Jesper's lap, either, Jesper petting his hair like a cat. Wylan sat up and poured another cup of tea when he spotted Inej.

"Good morning."   
  
"Good morning." She set the box on the table. "You didn't need to do this."   
  
But… it was nice that they did.    
  
"It wasn't us," Jesper replied, "it was Sankt Nikolai."   
  
Inej rolled her eyes. She had not brought them anything, thought they weren't exchanging gifts; she should have known her friends better. Trust Jesper and Wylan to decide that although _they_ hadn't given her anything, Sankt Nikolai would!

"Well, whoever it was, thank you."   
  
"We'll tell Sankt Nikolai you said as much," Wylan told her.   
  
"Because we didn't buy you cakes but we  _ do _ talk to saints regularly," Jesper added.   
  
Wylan elbowed him. "Just because  _ you _ don't say your prayers…"   
  
“Well, whoever they came from, they’re for everyone,” Inej said, accepting the tea and picking up one of the orange cakes she loved. There wasn’t a bakery in Kerch that made them proper Ravkan style, but she would readily admit, these were the closest she had tried.

“Thank you,” Wylan said. Merch manners as always. He passed a cake to Jesper, and Jesper kissed him and said he was better than cake, and Inej couldn’t help but feel a twist of jealousy. Jesper and Wylan were her friends and she could never wish them ill. No, it was more than that—they treated her like family. They kept a room for her in their home. The little gestures she would never see from Kaz, she saw from Jesper and Wylan. Her room with its stash of linens in her favorite soft blue, the purple and white crocuses that had a habit of showing up shortly after she did. The closest thing in Ketterdam to Ravkan orange cakes in a little box outside her bedroom.

She was jealous of what they had. They had an easy way with each other, a love of comfortable, thoughtless little touches.

“Do you hate us, Inej?”

The question surprised her.

“You’re some of my oldest friends,” she objected. “How could I hate you?”

Actually, Jesper was her oldest friend, but throw Wylan into the mix and Nina became a factor… not that Inej ranked her friends, of course. But she had very clear memories of her time in Ketterdam. What she told Neely last night was true: Jesper brought joy into her life when she had forgotten, when she had adjusted to the grim, gaudy, desperate life of the Barrel. Nina reminded her there was no shame in being a girl or in intimacy, things that had been made ugly for Inej, and though she would never have Nina’s confidence or easy way it helped Inej to understand herself differently. But Wylan… he came into her life useless, with determination and a child’s chemistry set. He had simply never accepted how things were in the Barrel, and Inej had needed that. And because he did not bring his own strength, having him on the team reminded Inej what it is to have power over someone besides an enemy.

How could Wylan think she would ever hate them? Why would she?

“For living an easy life,” Wylan said. “For leaving it behind, for being here when you’re out there.”

“I could never hate you,” Inej said. "If everyone who worked for good worked outside the law there would be no one to fix the law. Besides, you're good to Jesper.” She simply did not see suffering as virtue. Inej understood the desire for revenge, but she didn't think everyone ought to hurt—especially not her sweet friends who had hurt enough.

“It was the other night,” Wylan explained. “When we were horrified, when you and Kaz…”

Inej shook her head. “Of course it’s horrifying. Kaz and I look these things in the eye every day, but everyone shouldn’t have to. Someone should be horrified.”

Saints, what a world they would live in if such a thing could happen and there were no hearts left to break.

“Jesper,” Inej changed the subject, “tell me about school.”

Jesper groaned. “It’s the holidays!”

It was Wylan who said, “The semester after next he’ll be in a classroom.” He smiled at Jesper like he was looking at a Saint and Inej felt that twinge again—but she supposed that was the difference between Kaz and Wylan. Wylan gave those looks baldly. Inej had to catch Kaz at it… but he did nonetheless.

“I’m in classrooms every semester,” Jesper said.

Wylan sighed and shook his head.

“You’ll be  _ teaching _ in a classroom,” Wylan amended.

“Jesper, you didn’t tell me that!”

Had Inej lost track of his life so much?

“It’s not for nine months,” Jesper objected.

“But it’s exciting. What are you hoping for? Do you get to pick?”

“I can ask. I want first years in the Barrel.”

Of course he did. She hoped that would be okay; sometime, in a few months, she would check in with Wylan. She would make sure he was prepared for the challenges this would pose to Jesper.

She knew it wasn't his long-term goal, but as Jesper talked, Inej knew he would be a great teacher. His energy would be an asset with young kids, and she knew they would love him because… well, who wouldn't? Talking about his plans lit something inside Jesper. It mattered. It meant something to him, falling into a field in which both he and his fiance had struggled. Inej had known Jesper a long time and she had seen him excited about things before, but this was different. This wasn’t the energetic sharpshooter boy she knew from the Barrel jumping at the next adventure, this was a man with purpose.

For the first time, Inej knew she could leave here with absolute certainty that Jesper would be okay. He might be pulled under by temptation in the Barrel, but between Wylan and Jesper’s own drive, he would drag himself up again. 

They were interrupted, not much later, by Ashoryu. “I beg your pardon for interrupting. Do you need me?” he asked. “I can be on hand for when the children wake up.”

Wylan said, “You don't need a reason to join us, Ashoryu. There’s plenty of tea.”

“But very little cake,” Jesper added, playfully moving the box away.

Inej laughed. “That’s not even your cake! Leave that alone, you pest."  
  
"All right, all right. You know I have to be a pest sometimes. Otherwise I would be too perfect and you wouldn't be able to help falling in love with me, and I'm sorry, darling, but I'm spoken for."   
  
She rolled her eyes. "I'll  _ try _ to resist the temptation. Please help yourself, Ashoryu.”

Ashoryu accepted the invitation and the cup of tea, saying, “I see Sankt Nikolai favors you, he only brought me cookies.”

“We weren’t sure what you’d like,” Wylan said.   
  
"You mean Sankt Nikolai wasn't," Jesper said, and Wylan nudged him.    
  
"Next time you blaspheme, I'm telling your da."   
  
"Is this  _ really _ the sort of man you want to work for?" Jesper asked Ashoryu. "And that was barely blasphemous."   
  
"We can always get another opinion," Wylan replied in his most prim merch voice. Sometimes Inej forgot this was the same boy they dragged through the Ice Court. Then he sipped his tea in a way that had identical energy to Kaz's middle finger, and she remembered.


	24. Wylan

Bundled up against the cold, Wylan silently promised himself that one day he would make Jesper do this. Or Neely, when she was old enough—not  _ now _ of course, she was barely even a child now, but one day she would be the one tromping through snow to take care of the horses. Or Jesper could do it, but he was so good with the kids, Wylan didn't have the heart to even ask him. So for now he cared for the horses.   
  
He bowed his head as he stepped back outside, ducking away from the wind. The day had been a good one, warm and loud. Jesper was made for this situation. The chaos, the children, it was perfect for him and Wylan could see that the Shu children were already coming to adore him. (Well, of course they were.)    
  
He knew it was silly, but Wylan still felt comforted by how many times Neely sought him out that day. It  _ was _ silly. He didn't need the attention—he would shy away from it, not thrive as Jesper did, and he had no fears because at the end of the day, Wylan was still Jesper's prince and Jesper was still Wylan's hero. It all just came so  _ easily _ to Jesper, and Wylan… he wanted to help. He wanted to make people smile the way Jesper did. Even years later, he could slip all too easily into feeling invisible in this house again. But not to his sister. She saw him. She  _ needed _ him.   
  
Just a few feet back to the mansion. Wylan could leave his dark, empty thoughts out here to wither. He could already hear the chatter from inside. It made him smile. The children had been through so much—he knew it was only a few who were really daring enough to be loud, but he was grateful for those few.   
  
The snowball hit out of nowhere, such a surprise that, at first, Wylan just looked around, confused.   
  
A boy stood nearby, watching him with such hard eyes Wylan knew he had thrown the snowball. He had done it as a challenge. After a moment, Wylan placed him—Oktai, age 13. The girl hovering nearby, her head bowed, would be his sister Odval.    
  
Wylan scooped up a double handful of snow. He packed it slowly, making very clear what he was doing. Whatever this challenge was about, Wylan wasn't making any sudden or unexpected moves.   
  
He threw the snowball.    
  
It didn't hit, but it was enough to make Odval laugh. She did the same, throwing a snowball at Wylan, who ducked out of the way.    
  
From there, it turned into a proper game. Whatever test the snowball meant, Wylan had clearly passed. He and the twins traded snowballs from respective positions of cover, with enough calling and laughter they attracted the attention of others.   
  
The next to join in was one of a pair of identical 11-year-old boys——either Tabhan or Bayan, Wylan didn't know them well enough to guess, but the boy shouted something in Shu. It probably amounted to 'come join in' because from there the scene exploded. Tabhan or Bayan and his twin joined the game, then a whole mess of young people burst out of the mansion, until there were about a dozen of them. Wylan could only be grateful they didn't all decide it ought to be a game of Shu against Kerch, because he would be soaked and frozen if they did! Instead they seemed to have fun throwing snowballs at each other as much as at him.   
  
The only person who targeted Wylan near exclusively was Jesper, who grinned as he pelted snowballs… and Wylan didn't mind that in the least!    
  
If it had been earlier, maybe the snowball fight would have gone on longer. But the fight started in late afternoon and all too soon the sun disappeared and the wind sharpened its teeth. The whole lot of them were a breathless, laughing mess as they trooped indoors.   
  
"This," Jesper said, "was an excellent idea."   
  
He pulled Wylan close and kissed him.   
  
"Mm. It wasn't mine," Wylan admitted.   
  
"It was still excellent."   
  
He kissed Wylan again. Half a minute earlier, Wylan had wanted nothing more than to get inside where he could peel off his sodden mittens, shuck off his coat, and get warm by the fire. Now he was just fine with being outdoors. He moved closer, just the two of them and warm kisses against the winter chill…   
  
Then Jesper crushed snow to the back of Wylan's neck.   
  
Wylan yelped. "Not funny, Jes!"   
  
"Oh, come on, it was a little funny."   
  
He brushed away the snow as best he could, shivering. "Not even a little."   
  
"No?"   
  
"No."   
  
"Well…" Jesper smiled and his eyes glittered, and not only was Wylan no longer mad, he felt himself falling in love all over again. "I'll make it up to you," he promised. "Just  _ think _ of how I can warm you up tonight."   
  
Wylan didn't need to say a word. His blush told Jesper he was, indeed, thinking about it as they both headed inside.


	25. Epilogue

It would have been wonderful to say that all the evils of the world held until spring, frozen in the True Sea, and that those who would combat them spent their frigid nights safely indoors. It would have been wonderful… but it would have been a lie.   
  
The Wraith set off from Ketterdam early. The sun was up, casting watery half-light over the city. Dulled by the hour and the season, the city almost looked pleasant. Inej wasn't fooled by the skyline or the glimpses of gently shifting canal waters. She knew all the ugliness this city held.   
  
She knew the goodness, too. She always left Jesper and Wylan's place weaker and softer than she had arrived, spoiled by a soft bed, warm rooms, readily available food. Spoiled by affection from her old friends. This time, she left with renewed determination and four sets of Shu twins on their way to Ravka.   
  
"Safe travels, Wraith," Kaz said with a lilt to his tone like he was telling a joke.   
  
"Keep out of trouble," she replied.    
  
She squeezed his hand and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. His eyes still glinted, hard as steel and dark as coffee, but Inej knew there was affection inside him, however well hidden.   
  
The ship slipped from the harbor with little noise and no fanfare, cutting out into the open sea. North first. And then… well, she had tips from Kaz and Wylan, and her own intelligence to act on. Inej Ghafa had enjoyed her holiday. It was time for slavers to fear again. 

* * *

Eight of the Shu children left with Inej.   
  
Two ran away, there at night and gone in the morning.   
  
The remaining ten slowly began to make the mansion on Geldstraat their home. They started learning Kerch, and their Kerch-speaking hosts made a valiant attempt at learning Shu. Wylan genuinely tried, though his tongue was clumsy at it. Jesper picked up a bit, but he had school starting soon and put his attention there. Neely had the most luck once her shyness melted around the twins, though it left her with a Kerch/Zemeni/Shu vocabulary that made her even more difficult to understand. She didn't seem to mind, though. She had her books and her Dog.   
  
The Drydens' trial started as soon as the courts reopened. It made the most stir any trial had in almost five years—nothing had so ruffled Ketterdam society's feathers since Jan Van Eck tried to influence the markets, and wouldn't you know it, but Wylan Van Eck was at the center of this mess, too.   
  
"I don't think this means I'm any less a patriot than anyone else," he told a journalist, when questioned. "What makes Kerch great isn't our wealth but our fairness. Karl Dryden, like my father, circumvented the laws in the name of his own pocketbook. That's not fair. That's not right. That certainly shows no honor to Ghezen. I think Kerch deserves better. Don't you?"   
  
Wylan, meanwhile, had made his peace with the fact that he would never have Jesper's popularity when he realized the children liked Wylan for who he was. No, there were not so many laughs when he was around without Jesper, but they traded smiles at meals and offered soothing words after nightmares, and when they walked into the courtroom to speak of their experiences in Dryden's custody, both Jesper and Wylan were there to hold the children's hands and promise that they were safe.   
  
There was an emptiness in the verdict. Karl Dryden was going to prison and for a long while, that was the good news. The bad news was that the charges of slaving were almost an afterthought. It was the violation of tariffs and taxes that had the judge incensed. 

Erde had kept her name off the books. She faced a fine from the courts.   
  
When she returned home after sentencing, she had just enough time to pour herself a drink before her staff announced she had a visitor.   
  
"Van Eck," Erde said, greeting the boy with a nod. Without thinking, she slipped her good hand over her bad one. The bones had been healed by Grisha power, but still ached on especially cold days.   
  
Wylan returned the nod. "Dryden. Or is it Kir-Esenbat again?"   
  
She had not heard her father's name in years, not since marrying that manipulable Kerch man.   
  
She shrugged.    
  
"Either one is fine."   
  
"Speaking of fines, congratulations."   
  
She scoffed. "The back taxes required of the estate are more than punishment enough."   
  
Wylan's eyes glinted. She couldn't think of a single thing that was so blue and so hard; his eyes glinted so hard they should have been drained of color like water is when it freezes into ice. He was a child yet. Of course he saw the dead children as some sort of sin.   
  
"Was there something you wanted, Van Eck?"   
  
"Only to let you know that I will see justice done to Kerch. What you did won't happen again."   
  
She laughed. There would be no fooling him, so she laughed in his face. Of course it wouldn't! Was he so foolish as to believe the laws were all fixed now? That he had her all figured out? What a silly boy he was.

After he had shown himself out, Erde returned to Karl's—now  _ her _ study. She had never hated Karl. Nor had she loved him. He was simply an asset. Now she returned to his study. The things on the desk had been put just slightly askew; she didn't recall leaving the window open, but she went to close it now, cursing the damp in three languages.

* * *

Later that night, not far up the Geldcanal, Jesper Fahey closed a book of Zemeni children's stories and set it aside.    
  
"Are you ready for tomorrow?"   
  
Neely nodded. She was visibly sleepy, her eyes smudged, but determinedly awake. She was cuddled close to Jesper—close enough that he had noticed her head drooping and startling upright several times during the story.   
  
He almost regretted mentioning the next day, but the preparation did so much good.   
  
"Should we go over it one more time?"   
  
"Okay."   
  
"Okay. You'll be with Lise most of the day, just like normal. You're going to play animal feet and you can draw a picture for Wylan. I'll come home after lecture, so I'll be here for about an hour, at most an hour and a half." The time constraints would itch, Jesper knew, but he was an adult. He could handle checking his watch regularly—because he knew Neely heard it literally. He knew that if he left after 93 minutes, all their preparation would come back to bite him because in her mind he would have broken his promise.    
  
"My picture."   
  
Of course. "And I'll take your picture to Wylan. Lise is going to stay later than she usually does. She's going to stay with you while Wylan and I are out. You can have your dinner with her or with the twins—"   
  
"But you'll be here for bedtime."   
  
"But I'll be here for bedtime," Jesper confirmed. He wanted to tweak one of her braids, but she was already cuddling Dog in a way that would strangle an actual dog. "How does that sound?"   
  
"Fine," Neely replied, in a tone that told Jesper she knew she was meant to say it was fine, she was trying to believe it was fine, maybe.   
  
Jesper and Wylan had spent slowly increasing amounts of time away from the mansion since the feast of Sankt Nikolai, teaching Neely that they would come home. This would be their longest outing, especially for both of them together. Jesper didn't know the plan. He knew what Neely knew, he knew the schedule, but Wylan was taking him out and precisely  _ where _ was a surprise. Jesper could hardly wait.   
  
"Hey. You know I love you, right?"   
  
She nodded. "Much much."   
  
"I love you so much much."   
  
Neely smiled faintly and pressed Dog over her mouth, but Jesper still heard her reply: "Love you. Ready now."   
  
"You're ready? Okay." Jesper tucked the covers tightly around his sister and kissed her forehead. "Sleep tight, kit. I’ll come back and check on you later.”

“‘Kay.”

Jesper left Neely in the quiet, dim room. He would be back and fully intended to find her asleep—but he would check. Just in case.

He went down to the second floor, to the office. The others were already there, tea and cookies on the desk. Jesper helped himself.

“I hope I haven’t missed much?”

“We waited,” Wylan assured him.

Oktai said something in Shu, which Ashoryu translated: “Sometimes waiting is a good idea.”

Oktai and Odi were not the oldest of the children, counting from birth. But if they were all reborn in the dark cellars of Ketterdam, if one counted that way, they were by far the oldest. They had survived on raw strength and while there were many budding fighters among the group, these two had waited long enough. Their teeth were gritted, wits sharp, they were ready.

Wylan hadn’t liked it, of course, but Jesper understood. They couldn’t return to being children again and asking them to pretend was just making them another kind of prisoner. It wasn’t until Odi proved herself a swift and sneaky climber that Wylan accepted it: they were ready and determined to be spies, and if he would not guide them they would find someone who would.

"It was too big a risk, you could have been seen," Wylan said.

Odi sat silent beside her brother, taking small bites out of a cookie and grabbing a new one each time she finished.

"She was scared," Ashoryu translated Oktai's reply. "I needed to see her scared."

Jesper couldn't fault him for that. He already saw that this dynamic was set. Oktai would follow Wylan's instructions if and when it suited him, at least until Wylan earned his trust. 

"We're watching," Wylan said. "She knows. For the two of you… you don't have to do this. You can change your minds at any time."

The twins nodded, but neither gave a word of protest.

"Then I have some rules. Our goal is never to hurt. This is only about protecting the vulnerable. We work within the law as much as we can. But what happened to you will never happen again. Now, I cannot have you openly training as spiders. How do you feel about dance?"

* * *

  
The moon had long since risen when Erde Dryden went to retrieve her nightgown, not the silly lace thing she wore when she needed Karl to stop trying to get ideas about the business but the comfortable one. It had been a fine evening despite the cold. She had taken a cursory look through some of Karl's papers, but the businesses could wait. She had eaten a fine dinner, taken an indulgent bath. Now she would put on her nightgown and enjoy her soft, large bed.   
  
It wasn't there.   
  
In her dresser drawer, in place of her nightgown, was a tidily folded tunic and trousers. The tidy folding couldn't hide that they were little more than rags, stained and discolored. A louse jumped from the rags, landing on Erde's hand. She crushed it swiftly between her fingernails.   
  
Erde slammed the drawer shut. Van Eck! It must have been! But how? He was an associate of that thug Brekker—she had only heard him mentioned before,  _ that thug Brekker _ , never needed to learn more. Never until the day he arrived in her home, and the fact that Van Eck associated with him told Erde all she needed to know about the boy. 

Somehow, Van Eck and Brekker had broken into her home and left a reminder of the children, the clothing they had been given. Well it was thin, but how cold was a cellar, really? Horrid boys. Well, they had bested Karl, they would need more than that to overtake Erde Kir-Esenbat.  
  
Whatever Wylan Van Eck thought he was going to do, he had best be prepared to think again.   
  



End file.
